Suzanna  Stirs 
Th 


e  lire 


EmiJv  Calvin  Bloke 


SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 


I've  come  to  you,  Mrs.  Reynolds,  to  stay.     I've  adopted 
myself  out  to  you  " 

[  P«se  83  ] 


Suzanna  Stirs 
the   Fire 


BY 


OEmtlp  Caltotn  TSlake 

Author  of  "  Mar  da  of  the  Little  Home"  etc. 


Illustrations  by  F.  V.  Poole 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1915 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co. 
1915 

Published  September,  1915 


Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


W.  F.  HALL  PRINTING  COMPANY,  CHICAOO 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     The  Tucked-In  Day 3 

II     The  Only  Child 27 

III  With  Father  in  the  Attic     ....  40 

IV  The  New  Dress 55 

V     Suzanna  Comes  to  a  Decision     ...  69 

VI     Suzanna  Makes  her  Entry    .       ...  82 

VII     Regrets        .      . 88 

VIII     Suzanna  Meets  a  Character         ...  99 

IX     A  Leaf  Missing  from  the  Bible    .       .       .119 

X     A  Picnic  in  the  Woods 132 

BOOK  II 


XI  The  Indian  Drill     .... 

XII  Drusilla's   Reminiscences 

XIII  Mrs.  Graham  Woods  Bartlett     . 

XIV  The  Stray  Dog         .... 
XV  A  Lent  Mother        .... 

XVI  Suzanna  Aids  Cupid 

XVII  A  Simple  Wedding         .       .       . 

XVIII  The  Eagle  Man  Visits  the  Attic 


2134536 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX     Suzanna  Puts  a  Request       ....     265 

XX     Drusilla  Sets  Out  on  a  Journey       .  .     278 

XXI     Mr.  Bartlett  Sees  the  Machine    .       .  .292 

BOOK  III 

XXII     Happy  Days      .      »,    >      .      .      .  .     307 

XXIII  To  the  Seashore      .......  .320 

XXIV  The  Seashore     ..;.-.•;.  •    329 
XXV     Last  Days   .      .      .  ,   *      .      .      .  .    341 

XXVI     Suzanna  and  her  Father      ....  .    345 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"  I've  come  to  you,  Mrs.  Reynolds,  to  stay.     I've 

adopted  myself  out  to  you  "...  Frontispiece 
The  prettiest  old  lady  she  had  ever  seen  .  .  .  14 
Very  carefully  he  looked  at  the  mended  place  .  .  116 
"  We  thought  you  might  like  a  dog,"  began  Suzanna  206 


vu 


BOOK  I 


SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  TUCKED-IN  DAY 

MAIZIE  wanted  to  sleep  a  little  longer,  but 
though  the  clock  had  but  just  chimed  six 
Suzanna  was  up  and  had  drawn  the  window  cur- 
tain letting  in  a  flood  of  sunshine.  Maizie  lay 
watching  her  sister,  her  gray  eyes  still  blurred 
with  sleep ;  not  wide  and  interested  as  a  little  later 
they  would  be.  Her  soft  little  features  express- 
ing her  naive  personality  seemed  unsubtle,  yet  of 
contours  so  lovely  in  this  period  just  after  baby- 
hood that  one  longed  to  cuddle  her. 

Suzanna  stood  a  long  time  at  the  window,  so 
long  indeed  that  Maizie  feared  she  was  lost  to 
all  materialities.  Suzanna,  wonderful  one,  who 
could  strike  from  dull  stuff  magic  dreams;  who 
could  vivify  and  gloriously  color  the  little  things 
of  life;  who  could  into  the  simplest  happenings 
read  thrilling  interpretations!  What  bliss  to  ac- 
company her  upon  her  wanderings,  and  what  sad- 
ness to  be  forgotten ! 

3 


SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 


Indeed  Suzanna  seemed  oblivious.  Certainly 
in  spirit  she  was  absent  and  at  last  Maizie  could 
bear  the  silence  no  longer. 

"  Suzanna !  "  she  cried. 

Then  Suzanna  turned.  She  did  not  speak,  how- 
ever, but  placed  a  warning  finger  upon  her  lips. 
Then  she  went  swiftly  to  the  closet  and  took 
down  her  best  white  dress.  She  laid  it  tenderly 
on  the  back  of  a  chair  till  she  had  found  in  the 
lowest  bureau  drawer  her  white  stockings  and 
slippers,  then  she  brushed  and  combed  her  hair, 
confined  it  lightly  with  a  length  of  ribbon,  washed 
her  hands  and  face  in  the  little  bowl  which  stood 
in  one  corner  near  the  window  and  leisurely 
donned  the  white  dress. 

Maizie  sat  straight  up  in  bed  watching  in 
amazement.  At  last  Suzanna  glanced  over  at  her 
little  wistful  sister,  then  in  stately  fashion  ad- 
vanced toward  the  bed,  till  close  to  Maizie  she 
paused.  Tall  and  slender  she  stood,  with  eyes 
amber-colored,  eyes  which  turned  to  black  in  mo- 
ments of  deep  emotion.  Her  brown  hair  touched 
with  copper  sprang  back  from  her  brow  in  waving 
grace;  her  delicate  features  called  for  small  atten- 
tion, excepting  her  mouth  which  was  softly  curved, 
eager  of  speech,  grave,  mutinous,  the  most  ex- 
pressive part  of  an  expressive  face. 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY 


Suzanna  danced  through  life,  sang  her  way  to 
the  hearts  of  others,  left  her  touch  wherever  she 
went;  yet,  beneath  the  lightness,  philosophies  of 
life  formed  themselves  intuitively,  one  after  an- 
other, truer  perhaps  in  their  findings  than  those 
which  filtered  through  the  pure  intellect  of  the 
grown-up. 

At  length  she  spoke  to  Maizie.  "  You  mustn't 
say  anything  to  me,  Maizie,  unless  I  ask  you  a 
question,"  she  commanded,  "  because  I'm  a  prin- 
cess who  lives  in  a  crystal  palace  in  a  wonderful 
country  with  oceans  and  mountains." 

Maizie  did  not  reply;  what  could  she  say? 
Simply  she  stared  as  Suzanna  moved  gracefully 
about  the  room  with  the  slow  movements  she  con- 
sidered fitting  a  princess. 

At  last  she  returned  to  the  bed.  She  began: 
"  Maizie,  I  wish  you  to  rise,  dress  thyself,  then 
go  into  thy  parents'  room  and  if  the  baby  is 
awake,  dress  him  as  Suzanna,  thy  sister,  did  when 
she  was  here  and  not  a  princess." 

Maizie  rose  and  obediently  dressed  herself, 
ever  watchful  of  Suzanna  and  thrilled  by  the  new 
personality  which  seemed  to  have  entered  with 
the  princess.  When  she  was  quite  dressed,  even 
to  her  little  enshrouding  gingham  apron,  she 
asked: 


SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 


"Are  you  going  to  school  today,  Suzanna?" 

Suzanna  fixed  her  eyes  in  the  distance. 

"  I'm  here,  Princess,"  corrected  Maizie,  "  right 
in  front  of  you.  You  can  touch  me  with  your 
hand.  And  besides,  I  had  to  ask  that  question. 
It  was  burning  on  my  tongue." 

Suzanna  did  not  stir.  At  last:  "  I'm  not  going 
to  school  today,"  she  half  chanted.  "  A  princess 
does  not  go  to  school.  She  wanders  through  the 
fields  and  over  the  mountains  and  when  she  re- 
turns to  her  palace  she  eats  roses  smothered  in 
cream." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Maizie.  "  Rose  petals  are  bitter 
and  beside  we  only  have  cream  on  Sundays." 

Suzanna  turned  away.  Sometimes  she  found 
it  a  trifle  difficult  to  play  with  Maizie.  She  went 
slowly,  majestically  down  the  stairs  and  into  the 
little  parlor.  She  regretted  she  had  no  train, 
since  she  might  switch  it  about  as  she  walked. 
But  she  could  think  she  had  a  train,  and  ever 
and  anon  glance  behind  to  see  that  it  had  not 
curled  up. 

In  the  parlor  she  stood  and  looked  about  her. 
Her  physical  eyes  saw  the  worn  spots  in  the  car- 
pet, the  picture  of  her  father's  mother,  faded  and 
dim,  her  own  "  crayon,"  the  old  horsehair  sofa 
and  chair,  and  the  piano  with  its  yellow  keys  and 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY 


its  scratched  case.  But  with  her  inner  eyes  she 
beheld  a  lovely  rose-colored  room,  heaped  with 
soft  rugs  and  satin-lined  chairs;  fine,  soft-grained 
woods,  and  a  harp  studded  with  rare  jewels. 

At  first  she  stood  alone.  Then  by  a  slight 
wave  of  her  hand  she  commanded  the  appear- 
ance of  many  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  came  and 
bowed  low  before  her.  While  she  was  still  liv- 
ing in  her  vision,  her  father  descended  the  stairs 
and  entered  the  parlor.  He  started  at  sight  of 
Suzanna  all  dressed  in  her  best. 

"  I'm  a  princess,  father,"  said  Suzanna. 

"A  princess?"  he  repeated. 

Her  father  wore  his  store  clothes,  shiny  and 
grown  tight  for  him.  Above  his  winged  collar 
his  sensitive  face  showed  pale  and  thin  in  the 
early  morning  light.  His  eyes,  brown,  soft,  were 
like  Suzanna's  —  they  had  vision.  He  smiled 
now,  half  whimsically  and  wholly  lovingly  at  her. 

"  An  eight-year-old  princess,"  he  said.  Then 
the  smile  faded,  and  he  half  turned  to  the  door. 
"  Well,  that's  all  right,  your  Majesty,"  he  said. 
"  Continue  with  your  play.  I'm  going  up  into  the 
attic  just  for  ten  minutes." 

'  You'll  be  late  for  the  store,  won't  you, 
daddy?  "  she  asked,  anxiously,  forgetting  for  the 
moment  her  role. 


SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 


He  turned  upon  her  quickly.  "  Late  for  the 
store!  "  he  cried,  "  late  to  weigh  nails,  sell  wash 
boards,  and  mops.  What  does  that  matter,  my 
dear,  when  by  my  invention  the  world  will  some 
day  be  better."  Suddenly  the  passion  died  from 
his  voice.  He  stood  again  the  tall  shabby  figure, 
somewhat  stooped,  with  long  fine  hands  that 
moved  restlessly.  "  Ah,  well,  Suzanna,"  he  went 
on,  "  weighing  nails  brings  us  our  livelihood." 

Suzanna  went  and  stood  close  to  him.  She 
put  her  small  hand  out  and  touched  his  arm. 
"  Daddy,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  this  is  my  tucked- 
5n  day.  I'm  going  to  have  two  of  them.  Per- 
haps you  can  have  a  tucked-5n  day  sometime  when 
you  can  work  for  hours  at  your  invention." 

Again  he  smiled  at  her.  "  Where  did  you  get 
your  tucked-in  day,  Suzanna,"  he  asked. 

'  Why,  it's  a  great  beautiful  white  space  that 
comes  between  last  week  and  this.  It's  all  empty, 
that  big  space,  and  so  I  have  filled  it  in  with  a 
day  of  my  own.  If  mother  will  let  me,  I'm  going 
to  have  two  tucked-in  days.  On  the  first  I'm  a 
princess,  and  on  the  second,  I  shall  be  an  Only 
Child." 

"  Very  well,  little  girl,"  said  Suzanna's  father. 
"  And  now  I  hear  others  moving  about  upstairs. 
Will  you  stay  to  breakfast  with  us,  Princess?" 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY 


"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Suzanna,  who  began  to  feel 
the  healthy  pangs  of  hunger.  "  I  suppose  per- 
haps I  had  better  set  the  table." 

A  half-hour  later  the  house  was  in  a  bustle. 
The  baby  was  crying,  Peter,  the  five-year-old, 
was  sliding  in  his  usual  exuberant  manner  down 
the  banisters,  and  at  the  stove  in  the  kitchen, 
Mrs.  Procter,  the  mother,  was  filling  pans  and 
opening  and  closing  the  oven  door  with  quick, 
somewhat  noisy  movements. 

When  in  time  all  were  gathered  about  the  din- 
ing table,  they  were  an  interesting  looking  family. 
Mrs.  Procter,  young,  despite  her  four  children, 
wore  a  little  worried  frown  strangely  at  conflict 
with  her  palpable  desire  to  make  the  best  of 
things.  She  darted  here  and  there,  soothing  the 
baby  with  a  practiced  hand,  pouring  her  hus- 
band's coffee,  helping  voracious  Peter,  her  busy 
mind  anticipating  all  the  day's  tasks.  Suzanna 
loved  and  admired  her  mother.  She  loved  the 
way  the  luxuriant  dark  hair  was  wound  round 
and  round  the  small  head.  She  loved  the  rare 
smile,  the  soft  blue  eyes  fringed  in  black  lashes. 
She  liked  to  meet  those  eyes  when  they  were  filled 
with  understanding,  when  they  seemed  to  speak 
as  plainly  as  the  tender  lips  made  just  for  lulla- 
bies —  and  encouragements  when  the  inventor- 


10  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

father  stumbled,  lost  his  belief  in  himself  and  in 
his  Machine. 

Maizie,  younger  than  Suzanna  by  only  a  year, 
looked  like  her  mother  —  sweet,  very  practical, 
always  in  a  wide-eyed  condition  of  surprise  at 
Suzanna's  wonderful  imagination;  a  dependable 
little  body  who  rarely  fell  from  grace  by  reason  of 
naughtiness. 

Peter,  a  strange  composite  of  his  dreamy 
father  and  practical  mother,  sat  near  the  baby. 
Peter  had  had  a  twin,  a  little  girl,  who  died  when 
she  was  three  years  old.  Sometimes,  even  now, 
Peter  cried  himself  to  sleep  for  Helen. 

The  baby,  now  crowing  in  his  armchair  beside 
his  mother,  was  a  bright  little  chap  of  not  quite 
a  year.  Too  plump  to  even  try  his  sturdy  legs, 
he  was  oftentimes  very  much  of  a  burden  to  his 
devoted  sisters. 

Mrs.  Procter's  eyes  had  taken  in  at  once  Suzan- 
na's finery,  but  Mrs.  Procter  knew  Suzanna;  be- 
sides she  did  not  always  ask  a  direct  question. 
Suzanna's  mind  worked  clearly,  but  it  worked  by 
its  own  laws.  So  now  the  mother  waited  and 
toward  the  end  of  the  meal  she  was  rewarded  for 
her  patience.  Suzanna  put  down  her  fork  and 
began : 

"  Mother,  this  is  my  first  tucked-in  day  to  do 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY  11 

as  I  please  in.  I  know  Monday's  supposed  to  be 
wash  day,  but  you  said  it  wasn't  a  big  wash  and 
I  did  all  the  sorting  Saturday  night.  I  am  all 
fixed  up  for  a  princess,  and  something  inside  me 
tells  me  I  must  wander  about  my  palace  and  per- 
haps find  paths  leading  to  far-off  snow  countries." 

It  was  Maizie  who  looked  now  questioningly 
at  her  mother.  Could  it  be  that  Suzanna  would 
be  given  her  own  way?  In  truth  the  entire  table 
awaited  breathlessly  Mrs.  Procter's  answer.  It 
came  at  last: 

'  Very  well,  Princess,  you  may  have  your 
tucked-in  day." 

There  followed  a  short  silence.     At  last: 

"  Mother,  I  must  be  honest  with  you,"  said 
Suzanna,  "  there  are  to  be  two  tucked-in  days. 
In  my  next  space  I  want  to  be  an  Only  Child." 

Again  her  mother  agreed.  Rarely  could  she 
deny  Suzanna  her  jaunts  into  the  land  of  dreams. 

So  after  breakfast,  quite  free,  Suzanna  left  the 
house.  The  little  town  lay  quiet,  except  for  the 
rythmic  noises  coming  from  the  big  Massey  Steel 
Mills.  Suzanna  looked  in  their  direction  and 
stood  a  moment  watching  the  sparks  coming  from 
the  big  round  chimneys.  Over  across  fields  were 
the  tumble-down  cottages  occupied  by  the  em- 
ployees of  the  Massey  Steel  Mills.  Suzanna  did 


12  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

not  often  go  in  their  direction.  The  squalor  made 
her  unhappy  and  set  in  train  so  many  questions 
she  was  quite  unable  to  answer. 

The  day  was  early  July  with  a  spicy  breeze  that 
promised  its  delight  for  many  hours.  Suzanna 
walked  out  into  the  road,  and  turned  to  gaze  at 
the  little  home  in  which  she  had  been  born.  She 
loved  it  with  its  many  memories.  She  fancied  it 
held  its  head  high  because  it  sheltered  her  father's 
great  Machine.  At  length  she  turned  south  to- 
ward the  country.  She  breathed  deeply  as  she 
went,  feeling  how  wonderful  it  was  to  be  a  prin- 
cess and  to  wander  about  as  she  pleased. 

Throbbing  with  life  and  the  beauty  of  it, 
the  marvel  of  it,  she  began  to  dance.  Strange 
thoughts  flowed  through  her,  strange  understand- 
ings, that,  little  child  as  she  was,  she  could  find 
no  words  for.  Only  it  seemed  color  lay  within 
her,  rich  color  for  a  thought  of  love;  a  wistful 
rose  shade  for  a  passing  desire,  a  brilliant  orange 
for  the  uplifting  knowledge  that  just  to  be  alive 
was  great.  She  stopped  to  gather  a  passion  flower 
because  with  its  deep  purple,  its  hidden  heart  that 
she  could  very  gently  discover  and  gaze  into,  it 
fitted  into  her  mood. 

Oh,  to  be  big,  grown  up  I  All  these  brightly 
winged  thoughts  uplifting  her,  some  of  which  puz- 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY  13 

zled  her,  some  that  frightened  her,  she  would 
quite  understand  then!  In  those  far-off  years  of 
absolute  knowledge  there  would  be  no  limitations ; 
no  commonplaces,  only  miracles.  You  could  make 
what  you  wished  then  of  all  your  days. 

She  came  at  last  upon  a  little  house  lying  far 
back  from  the  road.  It  was  like  a  toy  house,  and 
had  stood  open  for  years.  The  Procter  children 
had  often  played  in  the  rooms  of  the  small  house, 
and  once  when  Peter  was  a  baby  he  had  fallen 
down  the  stairs,  and  his  twin  Helen,  anguished 
because  he  was  hurt,  had  cried  piteously  until 
they  were  home  again. 

Now  Suzanna  opened  the  gate,  mended,  she 
noticed,  and  hanging  straight,  and  started  down 
the  garden  path.  Lovely  old-fashioned  flowers 
—  pansies  and  phlox  and  pinks  and  balsam  were 
all  in  their  happiest  bloom.  Suzanna  wondered 
who  watered  and  tended  them.  As  she  lingered 
beside  a  pansy  bed,  the  door  of  the  little  house 
opened  and  a  rather  frail  little  old  lady  came  out, 
followed  by  a  maid  who  carried  a  chair  that  was 
filled  with  pillows.  She  set  the  chair  under  a  tree 
midway  in  the  garden  between  the  house  and  the 
road.  The  old  lady  sank  into  it  and  the  maid 
deftly  covered  her  with  a  large  woolen  shawl; 
then  saying  some  word,  and  placing  a  small  sil- 


14  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

ver  bell  on  the  grass  within  easy  reach  of  the 
lady  in  the  chair  the  maid  left. 

Suzanna  stood,  unable  to  run.  Someone  then 
had  moved  into  the  tiny  house.  And  who? 
Suzanna  knew  everyone  in  the  village  of  Anchor- 
ville,  and  the  old  lady  was  a  stranger.  Suzanna 
gave  up  the  question  and  started  back  toward  the 
gate  when  the  old  lady  suddenly  turned  and  saw 
the  child. 

"  Come  here,"  she  called,  and  Suzanna  per- 
force obeyed.  When  she  stood  near  the  small 
figure  in  the  chair  she  waited,  while  she  decided 
that  this  was  quite  the  prettiest  old  lady  she  had 
ever  seen.  The  wavy  silver  hair  lying  under  a 
white  lace  cap,  with  two  little  curls  falling  on 
either  side  made  the  blue  eyes  seems  like  a  very 
little  baby's  at  the  stage  when  they're  deciding 
just  what  color  they  shall  be.  Like  Suzanna,  the 
lady  was  dressed  in  white,  flowing  as  to  skirt,  and 
trimmed  with  quantities  of  fine  old  lace.  On  her 
hand  was  one  ring,  a  lovely  moonstone.  Suzanna 
at  once  loved  that  ring,  not  because  it  was  a  piece 
of  jewelry,  but  because  it  did  look  like  a  stray 
moonbeam  that  the  rain  had  fallen  on. 

"  And  who  may  you  be?  "  asked  the  old  lady 
at  once. 

Now  something  about  her  hostess  called  out  all 


The  prettiest  old  lady  she  had  ever  seen 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY  15 

of  Suzanna's  colorful  imagination.  She  felt  an 
instant  response  to  this  personality. 

"  I  am  a  princess,  the  Princess  Cecilia,"  she 
answered  promptly. 

"  Ah,"  the  old  lady  straightened  up  and  a  sud- 
den, vivid  change  became  at  once  manifest  in  her 
manner.  "  Draw  closer  to  me." 

Suzanna  obeyed,  moving  till  she  touched  the 
old  lady's  hand  that  rested  on  the  wings  of  the 
old-fashioned  chair. 

"  You  should  be  a  princess,"  said  the  old  lady, 
"  for  I  am  a  queen!  " 

Suzanna  gazed  without  at  first  speaking.  "  A 
real  one?  "  she  whispered  at  last. 

"  A  real  queen,"  returned  the  old  lady.  "  It's 
not  generally  known  by  those  who  serve  me,  nor 
even  suspected  by  my  own  son  who  lives  yonder 
in  the  big  house  on  the  hill.  But  I'm  the  real 
queen  of  Spain,  deposed  from  the  hearts  of  her 
people,  from  the  hearts  of  her  own  nearest." 

Suzanna  nodded.  She  looked  over  toward  the 
hill.  "That's  Bartlett  Villa,"  she  said;  "the 
people  only  live  there  part  of  the  year.  I  know 
Mrs.  Bartlett,  she's  the  richest  lady  in  Anchor- 
ville,  but  I  didn't  know  her  mother  was  a  queen." 

The  old  lady  didn't  appear  to  be  particularly 
interested.  She  went  on:  "It's  not  generally 


16  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

known,  I  believe,  that  I  am  a  queen."  After  an- 
other pause :  "  Over  yonder  is  a  camp  chair. 
Bring  it  hither." 

Suzanna  found  the  chair  at  one  end  of  the  gar- 
den. Quickly  she  brought  it  and  sank  herself 
upon  it  gracefully  as  became  a  princess  of  the 
blood,  but  she  was  surprised  a  moment  later  to 
meet  reproval  in  the  eyes  of  the  queen. 

"  It's  not  permissible  to  seat  yourself  in  the 
presence  of  royalty,"  said  the  queen,  rather 
sternly. 

"  But,  I,  too,  am  royalty  and  you  told  me  to 
get  the  chair,"  said  Suzanna.  "  Of  course,  I 
thought  it  was  to  sit  on." 

"  You  are  merely  a  princess,"  returned  the  old 
lady.  "  I  am  your  queen,  and  you  must  await 
my  permission  to  recline." 

Suzanna  rose. 

"  Ask  permission,"  said  the  queen,  "  and  per- 
haps I  shall  allow  you  to  seat  yourself." 

"  May  I  sit  down?  "  asked  Suzanna. 

The  queen  inclined  her  head  graciously.  '  You 
may,"  she  returned.  So  once  more  the  little  vis- 
itor resumed  her  seat.  Then  for  a  long  time  the 
old  lady  sat  with  folded  hands  and  looking  off  into 
the  distance.  She  was  very,  very  still.  Only  the 
lace  on  her  bosom  moved  gently  to  show  that  she 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY  17 

breathed.  Suzanna  thought  perhaps  she  had  bet- 
ter go.  But  she  feared  to  rise  lest  she  again  meet 
with  reproof. 

At  last  the  queen  remembered  her  guest. 

"  I  wish  to  traverse  my  garden  and  in  the 
absence  of  my  lady-in-waiting  I  request  your  arm, 
Princess  Cecilia,"  she  said. 

Suzanna  rose  quickly  and  bending  her  small 
arm,  she  offered  its  support  to  the  old  lady,  who 
though  now  standing  very  straight  and  slender, 
still  was  scarce  two  heads  taller  than  her  visitor. 
She  slipped  her  blue-veined  hand  within  Suzan- 
na's  arm  and  they  began  a  friendly  walk  up  and 
down  the  path. 

"  Once,"  began  the  queen,  "  when  I  lived  be- 
yond the  snow-capped  mountains  within  my  own 
palace,  I  was  not  so  lonely  as  I  now  am.  There 
was  one  who  afterwards  became  my  king,  with 
whom  I  walked  by  the  sea.  We  saw  together  the 
sapphire  sparkle  of  the  water,  the  golden  yellow 
of  the  sands;  but  in  reality  we  beheld  only  one 
another's  face." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  gate  and 
both  stopped  and  stood  looking  down  the  quiet 
road.  But  the  little  old  lady  still  clung  to  Suzan- 
na's  arm  and  her  eyes  had  a  far-away  look. 

"  And  after  a  time,"  went  on.  the  queen,  "  we 


18  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

were  wedded  and  lived  together  in  my  palace 
and  we  were  happy  as  the  birds;  happy  and  less 
care  free.  And  always  we  found  our  greatest 
happiness  in  walking  by  the  sea  or  in  climbing  the 
mountains;  I  sometimes  clinging  to  his  ready  hand 
or  skipping  before  him.  And  once  we  ran  away 
from  all  the  pomp  and  ceremony  that  was  merely 
surface  and  we  found  a  little  house  right  at  the 
edge  of  town,  and  there  together  for  some  months 
we  lived.  There,  too,  our  little  prince  came  to  us, 
and  from  there  he  went  away. 

"  And  one  day  my  king,  too,  left,  and  my  lit- 
tle prince  forgot  me,  and  I  am  alone.  Queen  as 
I  am,  I  am  alone !  " 

Suzanna  was  silent.  Indeed,  she  was  at  a  loss 
just  how  to  offer  comfort.  When  Helen,  Peter's 
twin,  went  away  her  heart  had  ached,  and  when 
a  little  baby,  soft  and  cuddly  had  gone  away  for- 
ever, Suzanna  had  wept  for  days  and  far  into 
the  nights.  This  queen,  she  found  was  very  sad, 
and  very  longing,  and  very  lonely,  three  things 
she  thought  queenhood  exempt  from,  sadness,  and 
longing  and  loneliness. 

Once  more  they  turned,  and  walked  down  the 
garden  path  till  they  reached  the  chairs  under  the 
tree.  The  queen  sank  again  among  her  pillows 
and  Suzanna  was  about  to  use  her  camp  chair 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY  19 

when  the  queen  spoke  in  her  old  commanding 
manner: 

"  I  am  hungry,  serf,"  she  cried.  "  Go,  pre- 
pare my  food !  All  the  dainties  that  you  can  find. 
I  wish  cream  beaten  to  a  froth  and  peaches, 
halved  and  stoned.  I  wish  strawberries  still  wet 
with  dew  and  reposing  in  their  green  leaves." 

"  But,"  began  Suzanna,  "  I  can't  get  strawber- 
ries for  you." 

The  old  lady  rose  to  her  full  height.  "  Wilt 
begone,  serf?  "  in  stern  accents  she  cried.  '  Wilt 
begone  and  prepare  what  I  demand?  " 

Now  Suzanna  had  a  very  firm  idea  of  her  own 
standing  as  a  princess.  Had  she  not  earlier  in 
the  day  impressed  Maizie?  And  now,  was  this 
stranger,  even  though  she  were  a  queen,  to  de- 
mand menial  service  of  one  of  royal  blood? 
Suzanna  thought  not.  So  she  said  firmly,  though 
gently : 

"  I  am  not  a  serf,  if  that  means  a  slave !  I 
am  a  visiting  princess,  the  Princess  Cecilia.  I 
will  not  go  into  your  kitchen  and  prepare  food." 
And  then  forgetting  her  role,  she  assumed  her 
ordinary  voice.  "  Why,  this  morning  I  didn't 
even  warm  the  baby's  bottle,  because  mother  said 
I  needn't  seeing  that  I  was  a  princess  and  living 
in  my  own  tucked-in  day." 


20  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  '  Tucked-in  day!'  responded  the  queen. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

'  Why,  it's  my  very  own  day,  a  day  tucked  in 
between  last  week  and  this  week,"  said  Suzanna. 

The  old  lady's  eyes  wandered  away  again  look- 
ing into  distant  countries,  Suzanna  had  no  doubt, 
and  she  hoped  the  strawberries  were  forgotten. 
But  alas,  she  was  wrong,  for  in  a  few  moments 
the  queen,  bringing  her  eyes  back  to  Suzanna's 
face  recalled  her  desire: 

"  I  will  have  my  strawberries,"  she  began  per- 
emptorily. And  then  with  a  complete  change  of 
voice;  one  with  some  satire  in  its  tone  she  con- 
cluded: "  Dost  think  because  thou  art  a  princess 
thou  art  exempt  from  all  service  in  the  world?  " 

"  A  princess  does  not  work,"  said  Suzanna 
wisely. 

"  I  would  have  you  know,"  said  the  queen, 
"  that  all  those  of  the  world  must  give  service 
in  one  way  or  another.  Dost  think  that  when  in 
my  palace  I  reigned  a  queen  I  gave  no  service? 
There  were  those  who  loved  me  and  needed  me. 
As  their  queen  did  I  not  owe  them  something  in 
return  for  their  love?  And  could  I  leave  their 
needs  unrelieved?" 

"  But,"  faltered  Suzanna,  "  you  were  a  queen!  " 

The   old   lady's   eyes  lit   with   a    sudden   fire. 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY  21 

"  And  'twas  because  I  reigned  a  queen,"  she  an- 
swered, "  that  I  must  do  more  than  those  of  less 
exalted  station.  In  my  kingdom  there  were  little 
children,  there  were  the  old,  and  there  were  the 
feeble,  and  there  Were  the  poor.  Could  I  go 
about  unconcerned  as  to  their  welfare?"  Her 
voice  suddenly  softened.  She  put  out  her  hand, 
now  trembling  with  her  emotion,  and  drew 
Suzanna  close  to  her.  "  My  sweet  little  prin- 
cess," she  said,  "  no  one  in  all  the  world  stands 
alone.  A  little  silver  chain  binds  each  one  of  us 
to  his  fellow.  You  may  break  that  chain  and 
you  may  feel  yourself  free,  but  you  will  be  a 
greater  slave  than  ever." 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  said  Suzanna,  and 
indeed  she  had  a  fair  meaning  of  the  other's 
words.  "  The  chain  runs  from  wrist  to  wrist  and 
is  rubber  plated." 

With  a  sudden  change  of  manner  the  old  lady 
spoke  again,  going  back  to  her  former  imperious 
manner:  "Am  I  thus  to  starve  because  no  slave 
springs  forth  to  do  my  bidding?" 

At  this  important  moment  the  maid  reap- 
peared. She  came  swiftly  down  the  garden  to 
the  old  lady.  She  paused  when  she  saw  Suzanna. 
She  had  a  very  gentle  face,  Suzanna  decided,  and 
when  she  spoke  to  the  old  lady  it  was  tenderly  as 


22  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

one  would  speak  to   a   child.     Suzanna   decided 
that  she  liked  her. 

Said  Suzanna :  "  The  queen  wants  her  straw- 
berries wet  with  dew  and  buried  in  their  own 
green  leaves." 

'  The  queen,"  returned  the  maid,  "  shall  have 
her  luncheon." 

"  And  the  Princess  Cecilia,"  said  the  queen, 
"  shall  eat  with  me,  Letty." 

Suzanna  was  very  glad  to  hear  this  since  for  a 
long  time  past  she  had  been  hungry,  and  had  been 
thinking  rather  longingly  of  the  midday  dinner  at 
home. 

The  maid  left,  but  in  a  very  short  time  she 
came  into  the  garden  again  and  announced  that 
lunch  was  ready  in  the  dining-room. 

"  Walk  behind  me,"  said  the  old  lady,  and 
Suzanna  took  her  place  behind  the  queen.  In  that 
sequence  they  went  down  the  path,  up  the  four 
steps  leading  to  the  little  house,  through  the  open 
door,  and  paused  in  a  short,  narrow  hall,  through 
which  Suzanna  and  her  sister  and  brother  had 
often  walked. 

"  Place  your  coat  here,"  said  the  old  lady,  indi- 
cating a  black  walnut  hall-tree. 

Suzanna  did  as  she  was  bid  and  then  followed 
her  hostess  into  the  dining-room,  to  the  left  of 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY  23 

the  small  hall,  where  a  table  flower-decked,  stood 
set  for  two. 

Suzanna  sat  down  at  the  place  the  queen  indi- 
cated and  waited  interestedly.  In  time  the  maid 
brought  on  a  silver  tray  with  little  cups  of  cream 
soup,  and  then  cold  chicken  buried  in  pink  jelly, 
a  most  delicious  concoction.  Finally  there  was 
cocoa  with  whipped  cream  and  marshmallows  and 
melting  angel  food  cake. 

The  old  lady  ate  daintily,  and  long  before  Su- 
zanna's  appetite  was  satisfied  she  announced  that 
she  was  finished  and  demanded  that  the  prin- 
cess rise  from  the  table  with  her.  She  did  not  men- 
tion the  strawberries.  With  a  little  sigh  Suzanna 
obeyed.  And  now,  instead  of  returning  to  the 
garden,  the  old  lady  led  the  way  into  the  parlor, 
which  lay  to  the  right  of  the  hall.  She  went 
straight  to  the  picture  that  hung  above  a  marble 
mantel.  Below  the  picture  in  the  center  of  the 
mantel  rested  a  crystal  vase  containing  sprays  of 
lilies  of  the  valley. 

'  This  was  my  king,"  murmured  the  old  lady, 
and  Suzanna  looked  up  into  the  pictured  face. 
'  I  like  him,"   she  said  immediately;   "  has  he 
gone  far  away?  " 

At  these  words  the  old  lady  suddenly  sank 
down  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her 


24  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

hands.  She  began  to  cry  softly,  but  in  a  way  that 
hurt  Suzanna  inexpressibly.  She  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment hesitant.  The  sobs  still  continued  and  then 
Suzanna,  deciding  on  her  course,  went  to  the  lit- 
tle shaking  figure  and  put  her  hands  softly  on  the 
drooping  shoulders. 

"  Can  I  help  you,"  she  asked.  "  Just  tell  me 
what  to  do  for  you." 

"  Nothing,"  came  the  muffled  tones,  "  there  is 
no  one  to  do  for  me ;  no  one  to  do  for  me  in  love. 
I  am  alone,  forgotten." 

"  Haven't  you  a  brother  or  a  sister?  "  in  a  mo- 
ment she  asked  softly. 

"  No  one,"  said  the  little  lady. 

"  Oh,  then,"  said  Suzanna  pityingly,  as  a  dire 
thought  came  to  her,  "  there's  no  one  to  call  you 
by  your  first  name  !  " 

And  then  the  old  lady  lowered  her  hands  and 
looked  into  Suzanna's  face.  "  No  one,"  she  said 
sadly,  "  and  it's  such  a  pretty  name,  Drusilla. 
It's  many  long  years  since  I  was  called  that." 

"  I'd  hate  to  come  to  a  time  when  no  one  would 
call  me  Suzanna,"  Suzanna  said,  and  she  leaned 
forward  and  touched  the  blue-veined  hands. 
"  May  I  call  you  Drusilla?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  would  be  sweet  of  you,"  said  the  little 
old  lady.  She  seemed  less  of  the  queen  now  than 


THE  TUCKED -IN  DAY  25 

before,  just  a  fluttering,  little  creature  to  be  ten- 
derly protected  and  cared  for. 

The  maid  came  in  at  this  moment.  She  went 
straight  to  the  old  lady. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  gently,  "  that  you  must  take 
your  nap  now.  This  is  the  day  for  Mrs.  Bart- 
lett's  call." 

The  queen  rose  quite  obediently.  Suzanna  said 
at  once:  "  Well,  I  must  be  going.  But  I'll  come 
again.  Good-bye,  Drusilla." 

"  Good-bye,  dear,"  returned  "  Drusilla  " 
sweetly.  "  I'd  like  to  have  you  kiss  me." 

Suzanna  lifted  her  young  face  and  kissed  Dru- 
silla's  withered  cheek. 

Once  out  in  the  road  and  going  swiftly  toward 
home,  Suzanna  pondered  many  things.  She 
thought  of  what  the  old  lady  had  said  about  the 
little  silver  chain  binding  one  to  another;  that 
no  one  really  stood  alone  —  no  one  with  a  fam- 
ily, at  least,  Suzanna  decided.  It  was  a  big 
thought;  you  could  go  on  and  on  in  your  heart 
and  find  many  places  for  it  to  fit  —  and  then  she 
reached  her  own  gate  and  felt  as  always  a  sense 
of  happiness.  No  matter  how  happily  she  had 
spent  the  day,  there  was  always  a  little  throb 
which  stirred  her  heart  when  she  went  up  the 


26  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

steps  leading  to  the  rather  battered  front  door  of 
the  place  she  called  home. 

Maizie  opened  the  door.  She  was  as  happy  in 
beholding  Suzanna  returned  as  though  weeks  had 
parted  them,  for  she  knew  Suzanna's  aptitude 
for  great  adventures.  Always  they  came  to  her, 
while  another  might  walk  forever  and  meet  no 
Heralds  of  Romance. 

"Did  something  happen,  Suzanna?"  she  be- 
gan eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  found  a  queen  and  we  had  lunch  to- 
gether," Suzanna  responded.  "  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it  when  we're  in  bed." 

"  Are  you  going  to  play  at  something  tomor- 
row?" 

"  Tomorrow  I  shall  be  an  Only  Child,"  said 
Suzanna.  "  Don't  you  remember?  " 

"  And  not  my  sister?  "  asked  Maizie. 

Suzanna  caught  the  yearning  in  Maizie's  voice. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I'll  be  your  closest  friend, 
Maizie." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  ONLY  CHILD 

BREAKFAST  the  next  morning  was  nearly 
concluded  when  Suzanna  made  her  appear- 
ance, but  she  met  with  no  reproof.  She  had 
anticipated  none,  for  surely  an  Only  Child  was 
entitled  to  many  privileges;  no  rules  should  be 
made  to  bind  her. 

Her  father  was  gone.  It  was  a  day  of  stock- 
taking at  the  hardware  store,  and  his  early  pres- 
ence had  been  requested  by  his  employer,  Job 
Doane.  Suzanna's  mother  and  the  children  still 
lingered  at  the  table. 

"  Good  morning,  Suzanna,"  said  Mrs.  Procter, 
while  the  other  children  gazed  with  interest  at 
their  tardy  sister. 

"  Good  morning,"  Suzanna  returned  as  she 
took  her  place;  then,  "Will  you  remind  Maizie 
that  I  am  an  Only  Child  today?  " 

1  You  hear,  Maizie,"  said  Mrs.  Procter  smil- 
ing. 

"  Mustn't  any  of  us  speak  to  her?  "  asked 
Peter. 

27 


28  SVZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  No  one  but  her  mother,"  said  Suzanna  ad- 
dressing the  ceiling. 

She  went  on  with  her  breakfast,  eating  daintily 
with  the  small  finger  on  her  right  hand  cocked 
outward.  Maizie  stared,  fascinated.  Countless 
words  rushed  to  her  lips,  but  she  had  been  bidden 
to  silence,  and  she  feared,  should  she  speak  to 
Suzanna,  dire  results  would  follow.  Suzanna 
might  even  go  away  by  herself  in  pursuit  of  some 
wonderful  dream,  and  leave  Maizie  out  of  her 
scheme  of  things  entirely. 

So  Maizie  waited  patiently. 

"  Since  you  sent  Bridget  away  on  an  errand  of 
mercy,  Mother,"  Suzanna  began  later,  "  I'll  help 
you  with  the  dishes." 

In  Suzanna's  estimation  the  family  boasting  an 
Only  Child  boasted  also  servants. 

"  I'll  be  glad  of  your  help,"  said  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter, "  and  since  Bridget  is  away,  perhaps  you  will 
be  kind  enough  to  make  your  own  bed  and  dust 
your  own  room." 

Suzanna's  face  fell.  Maizie  put  out  a  small 
hand  and  touched  her  sister.  "  I'll  help  you," 
she  said,  "  if  you  want  me  to." 

'*  Very  well,"  said  Suzanna,  and  together  the 
children  went  upstairs. 

In  the  little  room  shared  by  the  sisters,  Suzanna 


THE  ONLY  CHILD  29 

went  to  work.  Ardently  she  shook  pillows  and 
carefully  she  smoothed  sheets,  while  Maizie,  with 
a  reflective  eye  ever  upon  Suzanna,  dusted  the 
dresser  and  hung  up  the  clothes. 

"Is  your  mother  well  this  morning?"  asked 
Suzanna  politely. 

"  Why,  you  saw  her,"  Maizie  cried  off  guard. 
"  She  didn't  have  a  headache  this  morning,  did 
she?" 

"  I'm  speaking  of  your  mother,"  said  Suzanna. 
"  You  belong  to  an  entirely  different  family  from 
me." 

"  Well,"  said  Maizie  after  a  time,  "  she's  not 
suffering,  thank  you." 

"Have  you  any  brothers  and  sisters?"  pur- 
sued Suzanna  in  an  interested  though  rather  aloof 
tone. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Maizie,  trying  hard  to  fill  her 
role  satisfactorily.  "  We  have  a  very  large  fam- 
ily, and  once  we  had  twins." 

Suzanna  looked  her  pity.  "  I'm  so  glad,"  she 
said,  "  that  I'm  an  Only  Child.  This  morning  I 
was  very  joyous  when  I  had  whipped  cream  and 
oatmeal." 

"  You  just  had  syrup,  Suzanna  Procter!  "  cried 
Maizie. 

Suzanna  cast  a  scathing  look  at  her  sister:   "  I 


30  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

had  whipped  cream!  "  she  cried,  "because  I  am 
an  Only  Child!  "  Then  falling  into  her  natural 
tone:  "  If  you  forget  again,  Maizie,  I  can't  even 
be  a  friend  of  yours."  She  continued  after  a 
pause,  reassuming  her  Only-Child  voice,  "  That's 
why  I  wear  this  beautiful  satin  dress  and  diamond 
bracelets  and  shining  buckles  on  my  shoes." 

Now  Maizie  saw  only  Suzanna's  lawn  dress, 
rather  worn  Sunday  shoes  with  patent  leather 
tips;  she  saw  Suzanna's  bare  arms. 

"  Maybe  you'd  like,  really,  to  wear  a  white 
satin  dress  and  bracelets  and  buckles,  but  you 
know  you  haven't  got  them,  don't  you,  Suzanna  ?  " 
she  asked. 

Suzanna  did  not  answer,  plainly  ignoring  Mai- 
zie's  conciliatory  tone,  and  so  finding  the  silence 
continuing  unbroken,  Maizie  changed  the  subject. 

"  Will  you  play  school  with  me  this  afternoon, 
Suzanna?  " 

Suzanna  thought  a  moment :  "  I  don't  just 
know.  I  may  go  and  play  with  some  of  the  other 
girls  today,  and,  remember,  if  I  do  that  a  friend 
can't  get  mad  like  a  sister  can." 

Maizie  began  to  whimper. 

"  All  right,  if  you're  going  to  act  that  way,  I 
am  going  off  to  see  Drusilla,"  with  which  state- 
ment Suzanna  turned  and  went  downstairs. 


THE  ONLY  CHILD  31 

Maizie  came  running  down  after  her. 
"  Mother,  mother,"  she  called  loudly,  "  I  don't 
like  Suzanna  when  she's  the  Only  Child." 

Mrs.  Procter,  busy  with  the  baby,  looked  up. 
She  was  a  little  cross  now.  "  I  wish,  Suzanna," 
she  said,  "  that  you  would  learn  to  be  sensible 
and  not  always  be  acting  in  plays  you  make  up." 

Suzanna,  who  a  moment  before  had  bounded 
joyfully  into  her  mother's  presence,  now  paused, 
the  light  dying  from  her  eyes.  She  looked  at  her 
mother  and  her  mother,  uncomfortable  beneath 
the  steady  gaze,  spoke  again  with  an  irritation 
partially  assumed. 

"  I  mean  just  that,  Suzanna,"  she  said.  "  Mai- 
zie can't  easily  follow  all  your  imaginings;  and  I 
have  enough  to  do  without  always  trying  to  keep 
the  peace  between  you." 

Suzanna  stood  perfectly  still.  The  color  rose 
to  her  temples,  while  the  dark  eyes  flashed. 
Waves  of  emotion  swept  through  her.  Emotions 
she  could  not  express.  At  last  in  a  tense  voice 
she  spoke :  "  I  wish  I  wasn't  your  child,  Mother." 

"  Go  at  once  to  your  room,"  said  Mrs.  Procter, 
"  and  stay  there  till  I  tell  you  you  may  come  down 
again." 

With  no  word  Suzanna  turned,  went  slowly  up 
the  stairs  again,  drew  a  chair  to  the  window  and 


32  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

sat  down.  She  was  flaming  under  a  bitter  sense 
of  injustice.  With  all  the  intensity  of  her  nature 
for  the  moment  she  hated  the  entire  world. 

Time  passed.  She  heard  sounds  downstairs, 
Maizie  going  out  to  play  in  the  yard  with  Peter; 
her  mother  singing  the  baby  to  sleep,  and  still 
Suzanna  sat  near  the  window,  and  still  her  small 
heart  beat  resentfully. 

Later,  she  heard  her  father's  voice.  Perhaps 
he  cared  for  her.  But  even  of  this  she  was  not 
sure.  Then  she  sat  up  very  straight.  Someone 
was  coming  up  the  stairs. 

It  was  Maizie.  The  little  girl  slowly  opened 
the  bedroom  door,  peeped  cautiously  in,  and  then 
on  tiptoes  approached  Suzanna.  "  Mother  says," 
she  began,  "  that  you're  to  come  down  to  lunch." 

"  I  don't  want  any  lunch,"  said  Suzanna.  The 
bright  color  still  stained  her  cheek.  "  You  can 
just  go  downstairs  and  eat  up  everything  in  the 
house,  and  be  sure  and  tell  mother  I  said  so." 

Maizie  looked  her  awe  at  this  defiant  sister. 
Downstairs  she  returned  to  deliver  verbatim 
Suzanna's  message. 

Suzanna  sat  on.  From  bitter  disillusion  felt 
against  everything  in  her  world  her  mind  chilled 
to  analysis.  Her  mother  loved  her,  she  believed, 
and  yet  —  she  did  not  complete  her  swift  thought ; 


THE  ONLY  CHILD  33 

indeed,  she  looked  quickly  about  in  fear  of  her 
disloyalty.  She  had  once  thought  that  mothers 
were  perfect,  rare  beings  removed  worlds  from 
other  mere  mortals.  Hadn't  she,  when  a  very 
small  girl  of  four,  been  quite  unable  to  compre- 
hend that  mother  was  a  mere  human  being? 
"  Mother  is  just  mother,"  she  had  said  in  her  baby 
way,  and  that  sentence  spelled  all  the  devotion  and 
admiration  of  a  pure  little  heart  for  one  enshrined 
within  it. 

And  now  mother  had  fallen  short.  Mother 
had  disappointed  that  desperately  loving,  intense 
soul.  The  tears  started  to  her  eyes.  It  was  as 
though  on  this  second  tucked-in  day  an  epoch  had 
come  marking  the  day  for  all  time,  placing  it  by 
itself  as  containing  an  experience  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

After  a  time  she  realized  she  was  hungry.  So 
she  went  quietly  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  but  no 
sound  came  up  from  below. 

Some  clock  struck  one,  and  then  Suzanna  heard 
running  footsteps  mounting  the  stairs.  She  sat 
straight  and  gazed  out  of  the  window.  She  knew 
the  moment  her  mother  entered  the  room,  but  she 
did  not  turn  her  head. 

Mrs.  Procter  approached  until  she  stood  close 
to  Suzanna.  She  looked  down  into  the  mutinous 


34  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

little  face.  She  had  come  intending  to  scold,  but 
something  electric  about  the  child  kept  hasty 
words  back. 

At  length:  "  Aren't  you  going  to  speak  to  me, 
Suzanna?"  she  said. 

Suzanna  did  not  answer  immediately.  That 
strange,  awful  thought  that  her  very  own  mother 
had  been  unjustly  irritable  held  her  tongue-tied. 
At  length  words,  short,  curt,  came: 

"  You  weren't  all  right  to  me  this  morning, 
Mother,"  she  said,  raising  her  stormy  eyes.  "  Yes- 
terday you  were  nice  to  me  when  I  was  a  princess. 
Today  you  were  cross  because  Maizie  couldn't 
understand,  and  she  never  understands.  You 
never  were  cross  about  that  before."  She  gazed 
straight  back  into  her  mother's  face  —  "  I'm  mad 
at  the  whole  world." 

What  perfection  the  child  expects  of  the 
mother!  No  human  deviations!  Mrs.  Procter 
sighed.  How  could  she  live  out  her  child's  ex- 
alted ideal  of  her!  She  looked  helplessly  at 
Suzanna.  The  eyes  lifted  to  hers  lacked  the 
wonted  expression  of  perfect  belief,  of  passionate 
admiration.  That  this  first  little  daughter,  so 
close  to  her  heart  fibers,  should  in  any  degree  turn 
from  her,  pierced  the  mother.  She  put  her  arms 
about  the  unyielding  small  figure. 


THE  ONLY  CHILD  35 

"  Suzanna,  little  daughter,"  she  whispered. 
"  Mother  is  sometimes  tired,  but  always,  always 
she  loves  you." 

The  response  was  immediate.  With  a  little  cry 
Suzanna  pressed  her  lips  to  her  mother's.  All  her 
reticence  was  gone.  This  mother  who  enfolded 
her  stood  once  more  the  unwavering  star  that 
guided  Suzanna's  life. 

"  You  see,  little  girl,"  Mrs.  Procter  said  after 
a  few  moments,  "  mother  sometimes  has  a  great 
deal  to  think  about  —  and  baby  was  cross." 

"  Oh,  mother,  dear,  I'll  help  you,"  cried 
Suzanna.  "  I'll  always  be  good  to  you  and  when 
I'm  grown  up  I'll  buy  you  silk  dresses  and  pretty 
hats  and  take  you  to  hear  beautiful  music." 

Later  they  went  downstairs  together.  In  the 
kitchen  Maizie  was  amusing  the  baby  as  he  sat 
in  his  high  chair.  She  looked  around  as  Suzanna 
entered:  "  Are  you  going  to  see  Brasilia  now," 
asked  Maizie. 

"Who's  Brasilia?"  asked  Mrs.  Procter  with 
interest. 

Now  Suzanna  had  not  told  her  mother  of  her 
new  friend.  She  had  wished  to  keep  in  character, 
and  a  princess,  she  felt,  was  rather  secretive  and 
aloof.  But  now  the  renewed  closeness  she  felt 
to  her  mother  opened  her  heart. 


36  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  Yesterday  when  I  was  a  princess,  living  my 
very  own  first  tucked-in  day,  I  walked  and  walked, 
and  at  last  came  to  a  little  house  with  a  garden," 
she  said,  "  and  there  was  an  old  lady  with  no  one 
to  call  her  by  her  first  name  —  and  so  I'm  going 
to  call  her  Drusilla." 

"  Is  she  a  little  old  lady  with  white  hair,  and 
curls  on  each  side  of  her  face?"  asked  Mrs. 
Procter. 

"  Yes,"  said  Suzanna. 

"  Why,  she's  Mr.  Graham  Woods  Bartlett's 
mother,  and  she's  a  little  — "  Mrs.  Procter 
hesitated  believing  it  wiser  to  leave  her  sentence 
unfinished. 

"  A  little  what,  mother?  "  asked  Suzanna  anx- 
iously. 

"  Oh,  she  has  fancies,"  evaded  Mrs.  Procter. 
"  For  instance,  there  are  times  when  she  thinks 
herself  a  queen." 

"  What  was  the  word  you  were  going  to  use, 
mother?"  persisted  Suzanna. 

"  Well,  then,  Suzanna,  such  a  person  is  called 
a  little  strange." 

"  Then  I'm  a  little  strange,  too,"  said  Suzanna. 

"  But  you're  a  child,  Suzanna,"  said  Mrs. 
Procter,  "  and  Mrs.  Bartlett  is  a  very  old  lady." 

"Does    that    make    the    difference?"    asked 


THE  ONLY  CHILD  37 

Suzanna.  "  If  it  does,  I  can't  understand  why. 
I  think  that  an  old  lady,  especially  if  she's  lonely 
and  if  she  grieves  for  her  king  who  went  far  away 
from  her,  has  just  as  much  right  to  have  fancies 
as  a  little  girl  has." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  turn- 
ing a  soft  look  upon  Suzanna. 

Maizie,  who  had  been  standing  near  listening 
intently,  now  spoke :  "  A  girl  I  know  had  a  grand- 
father who  thought  he  was  a  cat  and  every  once 
in  awhile  he  meowed,  and  he  liked  to  sit  in  the 
sun.  He  thought  he  was  a  nice,  gentle,  Maltese 
cat,  and  when  he  wasn't  busy  meowing  he  was 
awful  sweet  to  the  children,  and  played  with  them 
and  took  care  of  the  little  ones;  but  the  big  people 
thought  they'd  better  send  him  far  away,  because 
it  wasn't  right  that  he  should  think  himself  a  cat." 

Suzanna's  eyes  flamed  in  anger.  "  I  think  they 
were  cruel,"  she  cried,  "  not  to  let  him  stay  at 
home.  I  know  the  girl  whose  grandfather  he 
was.  Her  name's  Mary  Holmes,  and  she  cried 
because  they  sent  her  grandfather  away.  But  she 
didn't  tell  me  why." 

"  I'm  her  special  friend  on  Wednesday  recess 
day,"  said  Maizie  bashfully,  "  that's  why  she  told 
me." 

"  I  like  old  people,"  Suzanna  continued.     "  I 


38  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

like  Drusilla,  and  I  like  Mrs.  Reynold's  mother 
that  once  came  to  see  her,  and  I  like  old  Joe,  the 
vegetable  man,  who  made  whistles  for  us  last  sum- 
mer. They  all  seem  to  understand  you  when  you 
talk  to  them,  and  they  can  see  things  just  like  you 
can." 

"  Well,  I've  heard  it  said,"  said  Mrs.  Procter 
musingly,  "  that  old  people  are  very  much  like 
the  young  in  their  fancies.  Maybe  that's  why  you 
enjoy  them,  Suzanna." 

"  Well,  mother,"  Suzanna  was  very  much  in 
earnest  now,  "  can't  you  always  tell  everybody 
who  has  an  old  lady  or  an  old  gentleman  living 
with  them  that  if  they're  not  loving  to  old  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  their  silver  chain  will  break?  " 

"Silver  chain?"  cried  Maizie,  puzzled.  "I 
don't  know  what  you  mean,  Suzanna." 

"  Why,  every  one  of  us,"  Suzanna  explained 
carefully,  "  carries  a  little  silver  chain  which  binds 
him  to  everyone  else,  but  especially,  I  suppose,  to 
our  very  own  father  and  mother  and  brothers  and 
sisters." 

"Where  is  the  chain?"  asked  Maizie. 

"  It  runs  from  your  wrist  to  mine.  It  stretches 
as  you  move,  and  it's  given  to  everybody  as  soon 
as  he's  born.  Sometimes  it's  broken." 

"  Well,  Suzanna,"  said  Maizie  solemnly,  "  then 


THE  ONLY  CHILD  39 

you've  broken  the  silver  chain  that  ties  you  to  me 
and  to  Peter  and  the  baby  and  to  daddy  and 
mother.  You  don't  belong  to  us  any  more  — 
you're  an  Only  Child." 

Maizie's  literalness  drew  a  new  vivid  picture 
for  Suzanna.  She  had  cut  herself  from  those  she 
loved.  She  looked  through  a  mist  into  Maizie's 
face,  the  little  face  with  the  gray  eyes  and  straight 
fine  hair  that  would  lie  flat  to  the  little  head,  and 
a  big  love  flooded  her.  She  went  swiftly  to  the 
little  sister  and  lifted  her  hand.  She  made  a  feint 
of  clasping  something  at  her  wrist.  "  Maizie," 
she  said,  "  I  put  the  chain  on  again.  You  are  once 
more  my  little  sister." 

"  Not  just  your  closest  friend,  but  your  little 
sister,  with  a  silver  chain  holding  us  together?  " 
Maizie  asked. 

"  Always,"  said  Suzanna.  "  I  don't  think  after 
all  that  it's  any  fun  to  be  an  Only  Child." 


CHAPTER  III 

WITH  FATHER  IN  THE  ATTIC 

A  SPECIAL  Saturday  in  the  Procter  home, 
since  father  expected  to  spend  the  afternoon 
in  the  attic  working  at  his  invention!  Once  a 
month  he  had  this  half-day  vacation  from  the 
hardware  store.  True,  to  make  up  he  returned 
to  work  in  the  evening  after  supper,  and  remained 
sometimes  till  midnight,  but  that  was  the  bargain 
he  had  made  with  Job  Doane,  the  owner  of  the 
shop,  and  he  stuck  bravely  by  it. 

The  house  was  in  beautiful  order  when  father 
arrived  at  noon.  He  went  at  once  to  the  dining- 
room.  Suzanna  and  Maizie,  putting  the  last 
touches  to  the  table,  greeted  him  cordially. 

"  We  have  carrots  and  turnips  chopped  up  for 
lunch,"  announced  Maizie  immediately. 

"  And  baked  apples,  with  the  tiniest  drop  of 
cream  for  each  one,"  completed  Suzanna. 

"  And  the  baby  has  a  clean  dress  on,  too," 
Maizie  added,  like  an  anticlimax. 

Mr.  Procter  exclaimed  in  appropriate  manner. 
He  seemed  younger  today,  charged  with  a  high 

40 


WITH  FATHER  IN  THE  ATTIC  41 

spirit.  His  step  was  light,  he  held  his  head  high; 
his  eyes,  too,  were  full  of  fire.  The  children  knew 
some  vital  flame  energized  him,  some  great  hope 
vivified  him. 

"  Sold  a  scythe  to  old  Farmer  Hawkes  this 
morning,"  he  began,  when  they  were  all  seated 
around  the  table,  the  smoking  dishes  before  them. 
He  smiled  at  his  wife  and  the  subtle  understand- 
ing went  around  the  board  that  it  was  ridiculous 
for  father,  the  great  man,  to  waste  his  time  selling 
a  scythe  to  close  old  Farmer  Hawkes;  also  the 
perfect  belief  that  Farmer  Hawkes  was  highly 
favored  in  being  able  to  make  a  purchase  through 
such  a  rare  agency. 

Luncheon  concluded,  father  rose.  The  children 
pushed  back  their  chairs  and  stood  in  a  little  group, 
all  regarding  him  with  longing  eyes. 

"  Well,  children,"  he  said  at  last,  "  if  things 
go  well  with  me  upstairs  and  I  can  spare  an  hour, 
I'll  call  you.  But  don't  let  me  keep  you  from  your 
work,  or  your  play.  Ball  for  you,  I  suppose, 
Peter,  since  it  is  Saturday  afternoon,"  he  finished 
facetiously.  Well  he  knew  the  fascination  of  the 
attic  and  its  wonder  Machine. 

And  Peter  didn't  answer.  Let  father  have  his 
joke;  they  both  understood. 

Father  went  singing  joyfully  up  the  stairs.    The 


42  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

children  listened  till  they  heard  the   attic  door 
close,  then  all  was  silent. 

Suzanna  found  a  book,  and  at  Maizie's  earnest 
request  read  a  chapter  from  it  aloud,  while  Peter 
descended  into  the  cellar  on  business  of  his  own. 

"  I'd  rather  you'd  tell  me  a  story  of  your  own, 
Suzanna,"  said  Maizie,  when  the  chapter  was  con- 
cluded. 

'  Well,  I  can't  make  up  stories  today,"  said 
Suzanna.  "  Today  is  father's  day,  and  I'm  think- 
ing every  minute  of  The  Machine." 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  great  thing,  isn't  it, 
Suzanna?  "  said  Maizie,  in  an  awed  voice. 

"  Yes,  and  nobody  in  the  world  could  have 
made  it  but  our  father,"  said  Suzanna  solemnly. 
"  Father  was  made  to  do  that  work,  and  the  whole 
world  will  be  better  because  of  his  invention." 

"The  whole  outside  world?"  asked  Maizie, 
"  or  just  Anchorville?  " 

"  Oh,  the  whole  world,"  said  Suzanna,  and  then 
as  Peter  once  more  made  his  appearance :  "  Peter, 
take  your  tie  out  of  your  mouth.  Father  may  call 
us  upstairs  at  any  moment,  and  you  must  look  as 
nice  as  nice  can  be." 

Peter  obediently  removed  his  tie  from  between 
his  teeth,  and  just  then  the  awaited  summons 
came. 


WITH  FATHER  IN  THE  ATTIC  43 

"  Children !  You  may  come  up  and  bring 
mother." 

Suzanna  ran  out  into  the  kitchen.  Mother  had 
her  hands  in  a  pan  of  dough  and  was  kneading 
vigorously.  She  looked  up  at  Suzanna's  message 
and  replied:  "You  children  run  up  to  father; 
I'll  come  when  I  can.  Go  quietly  by  the  bedroom 
door,  the  baby's  asleep." 

Upstairs  then  the  children  flew.  At  the  top  they 
paused  and  looked  in.  Father  was  standing  close 
to  The  Machine;  he  turned  as  they  appeared,  and 
with  a  princely  gesture  (Suzanna's  private  term), 
invited  them  in. 

The  attic  was  dimly  lit.  Shadows  seemed  to 
lurk  in  its  corners.  It  was  an  attic  in  name  only, 
since  it  held  no  stored  treasures  of  former  days. 
It  stood  consecrated  to  a  great  endeavor.  The 
children  knew  that,  and  instinctively  paused  at  the 
threshold.  They  got  the  sense  that  big  thoughts 
filled  this  room,  big  ambitions  for  Man. 

They  approached  and  paused  before  The  Ma- 
chine. It  stood  high,  cabinet-shaped,  of  brilliantly 
polished  wood  whose  surface  seemed  to  catch  and 
hold  soft,  rosy  lights  from  out  the  shadows. 
Above  The  Machine  rose  a  nickel-plated  flexible 
arm,  at  the  end  of  which  hung  a  sort  of  helmet. 
Some  distance  back  of  the  arm,  and  extending  about 


44  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

a  foot  above  the  cabinet,  were  two  tubes  connected 
by  a  glass  plate;  and  beneath  the  plate,  a  telescope 
arrangement  into  which  was  set  a  gleaming  lens. 

Mr.  Procter  opened  a  door  at  the  side  of  the 
cabinet.  The  children,  peering  in,  beheld  inter- 
esting looking  springs,  coils,  and  batteries.  He 
shut  the  door,  walked  around  to  the  front  of  the 
cabinet  and  opened  another  and  smaller  door. 
Here  the  children,  following,  saw  a  number  of 
small  black  discs.  The  inventor  reached  in, 
touched  a  lever,  and  immediately  a  rhythmic,  click- 
ing sound  ensued. 

Next  he  drew  down  dark  shades  over  the  low 
windows.  The  filmed  glass  plate  above  the  cabi- 
net alone  showed  clear  in  the  eclipse,  as  though 
waiting. 

"  Now,  Suzanna,  come !  " 

Suzanna,  at  some  new  electric  quality  in  her 
father's  voice,  sprang  forward.  He  procured  a 
chair,  placed  it  directly  before  the  cabinet,  drew 
the  flexible  arm  till  the  helmet  rested  perhaps  four 
inches  above  the  child's  head  but  did  not  touch  it, 
pulled  forward  the  telescope  and  focused  its  lens 
upon  her  expectant  face. 

"  Watch  the  plate  glass,"  he  said  in  a  tense 
whisper,  and  Suzanna  kept  her  eyes  as  directed. 

A  moment  passed.    No  sound  came  but  the 


WITH  FATHER  IN  THE  ATTIC  45 

rhythmic  ticking.  The  inventor's  face  was  white. 
His  eyes,  dark,  held  a  gleam  and  a  prayer.  An- 
other space,  and  then  very  slowly  a  shadowy  line 
of  color  played  upon  the  glass  set  between  the  two 
tubes;  color  so  faint,  so  delicate,  that  Suzanna 
wondered  if  she  saw  clearly. 

But  the  color  strengthened,  and  at  last  all  saw 
plainly  a  line  of  rich  deep  purple  touched  with 
gold.  It  remained  there  triumphant  upon  the 
glass,  a  royal  bar. 

Silent  moments  breathed  themselves  away,  for 
the  test  had  come  and  it  had  not  failed.  Suzanna, 
at  last  moving  her  gaze  from  the  color  registered, 
turned  to  her  father.  She  saw,  with  a  leap  of  the 
heart,  that  his  eyes  were  wet.  He  seemed  to  have 
turned  to  an  immovable  image,  and  yet  never  did 
life  seem  to  flow  out  so  richly  from  him. 

Peter  broke  the  quiet.  "  What  does  it  mean, 
daddy,  that  color?  "  he  asked. 

Suddenly  galvanized,  Mr.  Procter  ran  to  the 
stairs  outside.  His  voice  rang  out  like  a  bell. 

'  Jane,  come,  come  !  " 

Mrs.  Procter,  in  the  kitchen,  caught  the  exultant 
note  in  his  voice.  She  was  stirring  batter  for  a 
cake,  but  she  flung  down  the  spoon  and  ran  up 
the  stairs. 

"  Oh,  Richard,  what  is  it,"  she  cried,  as  she 


46  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

reached  him.  His  eyes,  half  frightened,  half 
elated,  looked  into  hers. 

"  I  will  show  you,"  he  cried.  He  took  her  hand 
and  led  her  to  The  Machine  before  which  Suzanna 
still  sat. 

The  wave  of  color  still  persisted  on  the  glass. 
"  See,"  he  said,  "  registered  color,  for  which  I 
have  worked  and  worked,  died  a  thousand  deaths 
of  despair,  and  been  resurrected  to  hope.  This 
afternoon  the  color  seemed  promised,  and  so  in 
fear  and  trembling  I  placed  Suzanna  before  the 
machine." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  after  all  these  years  1  " 
She  lifted  her  face  and  kissed  him  solemnly. 

And  then  Peter  repeated  his  question,  to  which 
before  there  had  been  no  answer. 

"What  does  the  color  mean,  daddy?"  he 
asked. 

"  Two  colors  recording  in  that  manner  means 
great  versatility;  purple  means  the  artist,  probably 
a  writer." 

Peter  looked  his  bewilderment.  His  mother, 
smiling  a  little,  reduced  the  explanation  to  simpler 
form.  Even  then  Peter  was  befogged. 

The  inventor  went  to  a  remote  corner  and 
brought  forth  a  large  book  containing  many  pages. 
This  he  placed  upon  a  small  table,  and  the  chil- 


WITH  FATHER  IN  THE  ATTIC  47 

dren  and  their  mother  crowded  about  him,  eager 
to  see  and  to  hear. 

Mr.  Procter  lit  a  side  lamp  so  the  light  fell 
upon  the  book,  then  he  turned  the  pages  slowly. 
Blocks  of  color  lay  upon  each,  some  in  squares 
alone,  some  merging  into  others  like  a  disjointed 
rainbow.  Above  each  block,  or  merged  block, 
were  writings,  interpretations  of  color  meaning, 
word  above  word;  many  erasures,  as  though  fresh 
thought  thrust  out  the  integrity  of  early  ones. 

Mr.  Procter  spoke  to  his  wife.  "  Till  the  ma- 
chine showed  the  possibilities  of  ultimate  success, 
I  have  said  nothing  even  to  you  of  its  inception. 
Now,  however,  I  may  speak. 

"  It  may  sound  strange,  but  from  the  time  I  was 
a  very  young  boy,  I've  seen  others  in  color.  That 
is,  a  vivid  personality  never  failed  to  translate 
itself  in  purple  to  me;  a  pale  one  in  blue.  It  was 
out  of  that  spiritual  sight  that  I  built  my  theory 
of  color.  It  took  me  years,  but  time  after  time 
have  I  proved  to  my  own  complete  satisfaction 
that  each  individual  has  a  keynote  of  color;  a  color 
explaining  his  purpose." 

A  thousand  questions  of  details,  of  practicali- 
ties that  his  theory  did  not  seem  in  the  rough  to 
touch,  rushed  to  Mrs.  Procter's  lips;  but  she  could 
not  voice  one,  she  could  not  quench  his  uplifted 


48  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

expression  and,  indeed,  so  great  was  her  belief  in 
him  that  she  had  faith  that  he  would  overcome 
all  obstacles. 

He  went  on :  "  After  I  had  my  system  of  color 
worked  out,  I  began  to  plan  my  machine,  then  to 
build  it,  and  now  —  "  He  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  Suddenly  he  took  them  down,  turned 
to  his  children  and  with  eyes  alight,  cried: 

"  For  the  progress  of  humanity  have  I  worked, 
my  children.  To  read  men's  meanings,  the  pur- 
poses for  which  they  live,  have  I  created  this 
machine." 

The  children,  deeply  stirred  with  him,  gazed 
back  into  his  kindled  face.  His  magnetism  lifted 
them.  For  humanity  he  had  worked,  should 
always  work,  and  with  him  they  understood  that 
this  was  the  greatest  service.  With  him  they  rose 
on  the  wings  of  creative  imagination.  Desire  ran 
deep  in  each  small  heart  to  do  something  for  the 
benefit  of  man.  Not  money,  not  position,  but  love 
for  one's  fellows,  work  for  one's  fellows !  Never 
in  all  their  lives  were  they  to  forget  this  moving 
hour  in  the  attic.  Its  influence  would  be  with  them 
for  always. 

After  a  moment  Maizie  spoke :  "  How  does 
The  Machine  know  your  color,  daddy?  " 

The  inventor  smiled.     "It  has  an  eye,  see?" 


WITH  FATHER  IN  THE  ATTIC  49 

He  pointed  to  the  lens  in  the  telescope.  Then 
he  opened  the  small  door.  "  In  this  place  it  has 
sensitized  plates;  this  helmet,  too,  is  highly  sensi- 
tized." He  paused  and  then  laughed  at  himself 
as  he  saw  the  mystified  expressions  of  his  children. 
"  Well,  let  us  try  Maizie.  I  know  her  color,  but 
let's  see  what  the  machine  says."  He  turned  out 
the  lamp.  "  Come,  Maizie,"  he  said. 

So  Maizie  seated  herself  before  the  machine 
and  watched  to  see  what  the  glass  plate  should 
say  of  her.  The  plate  remained  for  a  moment 
clear,  then  slowly  there  grew  a  feather  of  color. 
Smoke  color,  a  sort  of  dove  gray,  it  was  and  so 
remained,  despite  its  neutrality,  quite  plainly 
visible. 

Mr.  Procter  lifted  the  helmet,  hushed  the  ma- 
chine. He  went  to  his  book,  took  it  to  the 
window,  raised  the  shade  a  trifle  and  peered  down. 
"  As  I  knew,"  he  said.  Then  closing  the  book 
and  turning  to  his  small  daughter,  he  went  on: 
"  My  little  Maizie  will  some  day  nurse  back  to 
health  those  who  are  weary  and  worn;  she  will 
be  patient,  full  of  understanding,  and  she  will  be 
greatly  beloved." 

Maizie's  face  grew  luminous.  "  And  so  I'll  do 
good  too,  just  like  you,"  she  said,  with  a  beautiful 
faith. 


50  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  You  will  do  good,  too,  my  daughter,"  he 
answered,  with  exquisite  egotism  in  his  inclusion. 

Peter,  eager-eyed,  looked  up  at  his  father. 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  a  color,  too,  daddy?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Peter.    Take  your  place." 

Peter  did  so. 

For  him  there  grew  a  tongue  of  sturdy  bronze. 
In  the  dim  light  it  waved  across  the  surface  of  the 
glass  plate. 

And  Mr.  Procter  said:  "  In  time  our  little  boy 
Peter  will  build  great  bridges." 

"That  four  horses  can  walk  across,  daddy?" 
Peter  cried  in  ecstasy. 

"  That  a  hundred  horses  can  walk  across,  and  a 
big  engine  pull  safely  its  train  of  cars." 

Then  again  into  the  inventor's  eyes  leaped  a 
radiance.  He  placed  his  hand  lovingly  upon  the 
machine  as  though  it  were  alive,  and  indeed  so  it 
seemed  to  be,  for  into  it  he  had  put  his  finest 
ideals,  his  deepest  hopes  for  the  development 
of  man. 

"  A  few  months  more  of  work,"  he  cried. 
"  And  then  it  will  be  ready  to  give  to  the  world." 

Someone  came  lightly  up  the  stairs.  A  head 
appeared,  then  a  body,  then  a  hearty  voice: 
"  May  I  come  in?  "  it  asked. 


WITH  FATHER  IN  THE  ATTIC  51 

Mrs.  Procter  swung  the  door  wide  to  Mr. 
Reynolds,  neighbor  across  the  way.  He  entered 
with  a  little  hesitation.  He  was  a  large  man  with 
a  heavy  brick-colored  face,  yet  with  eyes  that  had 
preserved  some  spirit  of  youth.  Mr.  Reynolds 
was  as  great  an  idealist  as  his  friend,  the  inventor, 
though  his  idealism  gave  out  in  totally  different 
directions.  He  read  all  sorts  of  books,  but  reacted 
to  them  with  originality.  His  imagination  only 
grasped  their  meanings,  not  his  intellect.  He 
worked  in  another  town,  several  miles  from 
Anchorville,  in  a  large  chair  factory,  and  several 
times  a  week  in  the  evening  he  stood  upon  a  soap 
box  on  a  street  corner,  and  amused  a  mixed  audi- 
ence by  his  picturesque  setting  forth  of  what  he 
thought  was  wrong  with  the  world;  also  what 
methods  he  believed  would,  if  employed, 
straighten  out  the  tangles. 

Since  he  spoke  "  straight  from  the  shoulder," 
as  he  put  it,  touching  dramatically  upon  the  hand 
of  wealth  as  causing  the  tangles,  he  had  called 
down  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  the  town's  richest 
man,  old  John  Massey,  owner  of  the  Massey  Steel 
Mills.  Twice  Mr.  Massey  had  threatened  the 
eloquent  and  fearless  orator  with  arrest,  and  twice 
for  some  unknown  reason  he  had  refrained  from 
carrying  out  his  threat,  and  the  authorities  of  the 


52  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

town  complacently  allowed  Mr.  Reynolds  to  con- 
tinue his  pastime. 

"  I  knew  you  were  at  home  today,"  said  Mr. 
Reynolds,  "  and  I  must  see  the  machine."  He 
looked  at  the  joyous  face  of  the  inventor. 

"  Why,  have  you  been  trying  it  out?  "  he  cried. 

"  Yes,  and  with  a  fair  degree  of  success.  Of 
course,  I  realize  it  may  not  always  work  as  it  did 
today.  Indeed,  the  colors  are  not  so  strong  as  I 
expect  eventually  to  get  them." 

"  A  great  piece  of  work,"  said  Mr.  Reynolds, 
advancing  to  the  middle  of  the  room  and  falling 
into  the  orator's  attitude.  "  I've  thought  of  it 
every  day  since  you  told  me  of  it.  When  I  see 
men  in  the  factory  working  at  jobs  they  fair  hate, 
because  they  and  theirs  need  bread  —  and  break- 
ing under  the  bondage  —  Oh,  I  say,  Procter,  I 
wish  you  could  bring  the  machine  to  perfection 
soon  and  get  others  to  believe  in  it." 

Mr.  Procter's  eyes  lost  their  light.  "  That's 
it,  to  make  others  believe !  " 

Mrs.  Procter  went  to  her  husband.  She  put 
her  hand  on  his  arm  and  looked  up  into  his  face 
with  a  gaze  of  perfect  faith.  "  A  big  purposeful 
idea  like  yours,  that's  going  to  make  humanity 
happier,  can't  fail  but  some  day  to  be  brought  to 
the  world's  attention.  Never  lose  faith,  my  man." 


WITH  FATHER  IN  THE  ATTIC  53 

The  shadow  of  discouragement  fell  swiftly 
from  him. 

"  And,  now,"  she  continued  before  he  could 
speak,  "  all  wait  here  a  little  while.  The  baby's 
still  asleep,"  she  flung  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
left  the  room. 

Shortly  she  returned  bearing  a  large  tray  which 
she  set  down  on  the  table.  Then  she  lit  the  side 
lamp;  it  cast  a  soft  glow  over  the  room.  "  Now 
all  draw  close,"  Mrs.  Procter  invited. 

So  they  drew  chairs  near  the  table.  There  was 
milk  for  the  children,  little  seed  cakes,  thin  bread 
and  butter,  and  cups  of  strong  tea  for  the  inventor 
and  the  visitor. 

The  children,  sipping  their  milk  and  eating  the 
little  sweet  cakes,  listening  to  the  talk  of  their 
father  and  Mr.  Reynolds,  their  expressed  hopes 
for  the  success  of  the  machine  and  its  effect  upon 
humanity,  gazed  at  the  invention.  The  sense  of  a 
community  of  interest  filled  them.  They  felt  that 
they,  each  and  all,  had  put  something  of  everlast- 
ing worth  into  The  Machine,  just  as  it  had  put 
some  enduring  understanding  into  them. 

"  I  feel,"  whispered  Suzanna  to  Maizie,  "  as 
though  we  were  in  church." 

Mr.  Reynolds  caught  the  whisper.  "  And  well 
you  may,  little  lassie,"  he  returned.  "  Your  father 


54  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

is  a  fine,  good  man  with  no  thought  at  all  of  him- 
self, and  some  day,"  finished  Mr.  Reynolds, 
grandly,  "  his  name  will  go  rolling  down  the  ages 
as  a  benefactor  to  all  mankind." 

A  tribute  and  a  prophecy !     The  children  were 
glad  that  Mr.  Reynolds  had  such  clear  vision. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  NEW  DRESS 

AST  influence  vaguely  felt  by  all  the  Procter 
family  lingered  for  days  after  father's  Sat- 
urday afternoon  at  home.  And  then  ordinary 
hours  intruded  and  filled  the  small  lives  with  their 
duties  and  their  pleasures.  Still  shadowy,  deeply 
hidden,  the  influence  of  the  visionary  father  lay. 
Even  small  Maizie  awoke  to  tiny  dreams,  her 
literalness  for  moments  drowned  out. 

At  school,  Maizie  and  Suzanna  were  perhaps 
the  least  extravagantly  dressed  little  girls.  Ex- 
quisitely clean,  often  quaintly  adorned  with 
ribbons  placed  according  to  Suzanna's  fancies,  it 
still  could  be  seen  that  they  came  from  an  humble 
home. 

Still,  in  their  attitude  there  was  toward  their 
companions  an  unconscious  patronage,  felt  but 
hardly  resented  by  the  others,  since  Suzanna  and 
Maizie  gave  love  and  warmth  besides. 

And  this  unconscious  feeling  of  superiority 
sprang  from  "  belonging "  to  a  father  who 
worked  in  his  free  hours  that  others  out  in  the 

55 


56  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

big  world  might  some  day  be  glad  he  had  lived! 
This  idealism  lent  luster  even  to  his  calling  of 
weighing  nails  and  selling  washboards  to  the  town 
of  Anchorville. 

Jenny  Bryson,  in  Suzanna's  class,  bragged  of 
her  father's  financial  condition,  and  indeed  she 
was  a  resplendent  advertisement  of  his  success. 

Suzanna  listened  interestedly.  She  gazed  with 
admiration  at  the  velvet  dress,  the  gold  ring,  and 
the  pearl  neck  beads.  She  loved  them  all  —  the 
smoothness  of  the  velvet,  the  sparkle  of  the  gold, 
the  soft  luster  of  the  pearls.  But  she  felt  no  envy. 
She  loved  the  adornments  with  her  imagination, 
not  with  desire.  And  though  she  could  not  say  so 
to  Jenny,  she  rather  pitied  her  for  not  having  a 
father  to  whom  a  future  generation  would  bow  in 
great  gratitude. 

Then  too,  as  mother  said,  if  you  merely  bought 
clothes,  you  lost  the  joy  of  creating.  Witness  the 
ingenious  way,  following  Suzanna's  suggestion, 
that  mother  had  draped  a  lace  curtain  over  a  worn 
blue  dress,  and  behold,  a  result  wonderful. 

It  was  fun  then  to  "  make  the  best  of  your 
material,"  as  mother  again  said.  Mother,  who, 
when  not  too  tired  from  many  tasks,  could  paint 
rare  word  pictures,  build  for  eager  little  listeners 
castles  of  hope;  build,  especially  for  Suzanna, 


THE  NEW  DRESS  57 

colorful  palaces  with  flaming  jewels,  crystal  lamps, 
scented  draperies. 

Joys  sometimes  come  close  together.  Father's 
day,  then  Sunday  with  an  hour  spent  in  the  Massey 
pew  with  gentle  Miss  Massey,  old  John  Massey's 
only  child,  setting  forth  the  lesson  from  the  Bible, 
arid  then  the  thrilling  announcement  by  the  Super- 
intendent that  a  festival  was  to  be  given  by  the 
primary  teachers  some  time  in  August,  the  exact 
date  to  be  told  later. 

Miss  Massey,  taking  up  the  subject  when  the 
Superintendent  had  finished,  thought  it  might  add 
to  the  brilliance  of  the  affair  if  Suzanna  were  to 
recite.  So  she  gave  Suzanna  a  sheet  of  paper 
printed  in  blue  ink,  with  a  title  in  red.  "  The 
Little  Martyr  of  Smyrna,"  Suzanna  spelled  out. 

"  You  are  to  learn  the  poem  by  heart,  of  course, 
Suzanna,"  said  Miss  Massey,  "  and  if  you  need 
any  help  as  to  emphasis  or  gesture,  you  may  come 
to  me  on  any  afternoon." 

Suzanna  flushed  exalted.  "  I  don't  believe  I'll 
need  any  help,  thank  you,  Miss  Massey,"  she  said. 
She  could  scarcely  wait  then  till  she  reached  home 
to  tell  her  mother  the  great  news. 

"  You'll  have  to  study  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Procter 
after  she  had  read  over  the  verses,  "  but  Suzanna, 
you  have  nothing  suitable  to  wear." 


58  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

;'  The  lace  curtain  dress,  mother? "  asked 
Suzanna,  hopefully. 

u  Beyond  repair,"  returned  Mrs.  Procter. 

Father,  sitting  near,  looked  around  at  his  small 
daughter.  "  I  have  two  dollars  that  I  couldn't 
possibly  use.  Take  them  for  a  dress,  Suzanna." 

"But,  dear  —  "  began  mother,  and  went  on 
haltingly  about  a  pair  of  new  shoes  she  believed 
father  had  been  saving  for. 

But  father  did  not  hear,  and  so  behold  Suzanna 
and  her  mother  the  next  day  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  in  Bryson's  drygoods  store  deciding 
upon  a  pink  lawn  and  a  soft  Valenciennes  lace. 
And  later,  green  cambric  for  a  petticoat.  And 
then  on  Wednesday  the  cutting  out  of  the  dress 
with  suggestions  and  help  from  Mrs.  Reynolds, 
the  very  kind  neighbor  across  the  way.  On  Thurs- 
day, baking  day,  mother  put  in  every  waking 
moment  between  the  oven  in  the  kitchen  and  the 
sewing  machine  in  the  dining-room. 

"  Mother  dear,  don't  work  so  hard,"  Suzanna 
begged  once.  She  held  the  fretful  baby  in  her 
arms  and  tried  to  soothe  him.  He  was  always 
fretful,  it  seemed,  when  mother  was  very  busy. 

"  The  dress  must  be  finished  this  week,"  said 
Mrs.  Procter,  basting  away  furiously. 

"  But  there's  two  weeks  yet  to  the   festival, 


THE  NEW  DRESS  59 

mother,"  said  .Suzanna,  as  she  hushed  the  baby 
against  her  shoulder. 

"  Next  week,  Suzanna,  the  bedrooms  must  be 
thoroughly  cleaned,  the  carpets  taken  up.  O, 
please  take  the  baby  out  into  the  yard  and  keep 
him  amused." 

Two  red  spots  burned  on  Mrs.  Procter's  cheeks. 
Suzanna  saw  them.  Ardently  she  wished  mother 
would  stop  and  rest.  Such  driving  haste,  such 
tenacity,  meant  later  a  nervous  headache  with 
mother  put  aside  in  a  darkened  room.  Suzanna 
sighed  as  she  took  the  baby  out  into  the  yard. 

She  put  him  into  his  carriage  and  wheeled  him 
about  till  he  fell  asleep.  Then  she  called  Maizie 
to  watch  him,  while  she  tiptoed  back  into  the  din- 
ing-room. Her  mother  still  sat,  dress  in  hand. 
Now  she  was  drawing  out  the  bastings.  The  red 
spots  still  burned. 

"  The  baby's  asleep,  mother,"  whispered 
Suzanna.  She  longed  ardently  for  the  return  of 
the  loved  one  who  could  laugh  and  say  something 
funny  about  sleep  claiming  the  baby  when  he  had 
made  up  his  small  mind  to  remain  exasperatingly 
wide  awake. 

But  instead  —  "  Take  out  the  stockings,  Su- 
zanna, and  darn  them.  I'll  call  you  when  I  need 
your  help  for  supper.  Keep  your  eye  on  Peter." 


60  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

That  was  all.  Suzanna  lingered,  but  no  further 
word  came. 

Suzanna  dragged  a  low  rocking  chair  into  the 
yard,  emptied  the  bag  of  freshly  washed  stockings 
on  the  ground  beside  her,  selected  a  pair  of 
Peter's,  slipped  the  egg  down,  threaded  her  needle 
and  began  the  task  of  filling  in  the  huge  holes. 
Then  she  called  Maizie  from  beside  the  still  sleep- 
ing baby. 

"  Maizie,"  she  began,  "  listen  to  me  say  two 
verses  of  '  The  Little  Martyr  of  Smyrna.'  ' 

Maizie  sank  down  at  her  sister's  feet.  She 
listened  in  awe  as  Suzanna  dramatically  repeated 
the  first  part  of  the  poem.  Her  gestures  were 
remarkable,  her  voice  charged  with  feeling. 

"  It's  beautiful,  Suzanna,"  said  Maizie. 
"  Everybody  will  listen  and  look  at  you  in  your 
new  dress." 

"  O,  it  isn't  a  dress,  Maizie,"  cried  Suzanna, 
the  while  her  small  fingers  dexterously  wove  the 
needle  in  and  out.  "  It's  a  rose  blossom.  And 
when  I  recite  in  it  on  the  last  day  of  school  my 
heart  will  be  a  butterfly  sipping  honey  from  the 
flower." 

"  I  thought  it  was  only  a  pale  pink  lawn  at  ten 
cents  a  yard,"  sai.d  Maizie.  She  spoke  somewhat 
timidly  now,  fearful  of  Suzanna's  scorn. 


THE  NEW  DRESS  61 

"  You  think  everything  is  just  what  it  is," 
answered  Suzanna  reproachfully.  "  Go  see  if  the 
baby  is  still  asleep,  and  look  down  the  road  for 
Peter." 

Maizie  went  off  obediently,  but  she  returned  in 
a  moment  with  the  news  that  the  baby  still  slept 
and  Peter  was  playing  near  Mr.  Reynolds'  gate. 
She  seated  herself  as  before.  She  wanted  to  hear 
more  of  Suzanna's  fancies,  but  Suzanna  remained 
silent,  having  been  chilled  a  little  by  Maizie's 
practicality.  So  Maizie  put  out  her  hand  and 
touched  her  sister.  "  Will  the  petticoat  be  a  pet- 
ticoat? "  she  asked,  and  wondered  excitedly  into 
what  beauty  Suzanna's  imagination  would  trans- 
mute this  ordinary  piece  of  cambric. 

Suzanna's  spirits  rose  again.  "  It'll  be  a  green 
satin  cup  for  the  rose,"  she  answered,  gazing 
dreamily  before  her.  She  let  Peter's  stocking  fall 
to  the  ground  while  she  clasped  her  hands  ecstat- 
ically. "  O,  Maizie,  it's  almost  too  much  joy! 
To  wear  a  flower  dress  and  to  recite  something 
that  makes  you  so  happy  and  yet  you  want  to  cry 
too." 

Maizie  nestled  a  little  closer.  "  Do  you  think, 
Suzanna,  when  the  green  petticoat's  nearly  worn, 
that  it'll  come  down  to  me?  " 

Suzanna  pondered  this  for  a  moment.     "  Yes, 


62  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

it'll  go  down  to  you,  Maizie,  but  not  for  years  and 
years,"  she  answered,  finally.  "  Things  do  last 
so  in  this  family." 

Maizie,  by  a  sad  little  shake  of  the  head,  agreed 
with  this  statement,  and  the  sisters  were  silent. 
In  different  manner,  however,  for  Maizie  simply 
accepted  an  unpleasant  fact,  while  Suzanna 
worked  mentally  to  a  solution  of  any  situation. 
She  found  the  solution  at  last. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Maizie,"  she  said. 
"  Once  a  month,  when  we  love  each  other  madly, 
I'll  let  you  wear  my  petticoat." 

"  I  hope  it'll  come  on  Sunday  when  we  love  each 
other  that  way,"  said  Maizie,  wistfully;  "  I'm 
sure  mother  wouldn't  let  you  lend  the  petticoat  to 
me  for  an  every-day." 

"  We  can  fix  that,  too,"  said  ready  Suzanna. 
"  Some  Friday  you  can  begin  to  fuss  about  wash- 
ing Peter.  I'll  have  to  wash  him  myself  if  you're 
too  mean.  And  Saturday  morning  you  can  peel 
the  potatoes  so  thick  that  mother'll  say:  '  Maizie, 
do  you  think  we're  made  of  money!  Here,  let 
Suzanna  show  you  how  to  peel  those  potatoes 
thin.'  And  then  I'll  be  so  mad  I'll  give  you  a 
push,  and  I  won't  speak  to  you  for  the  rest  of  the 
day." 

"  Yes,  go  on,"  said  Maizie,  her  eyes  shining. 


THE  NEW  DRESS  63 

"  And  then  on  Sunday  morning,  just  before 
breakfast,  you'll  come  to  me  and  put  your  arms 
around  my  neck  and  say:  '  Dear,  sweet,  lovely 
Suzanna,  I'm  so  sorry  I've  been  so  hateful.  I'll 
go  down  on  my  knees  for  your  forgiveness.  And 
I'll  sew  on  all  the  buttons  this  week! '  " 

Maizie  drew  away  a  little  then.  Suzanna  went 
on,  however.  "  And  I'll  say:  '  Yes,  dear  sinner, 
I  forgive  you  freely.  You  may  wear  my  green 
petticoat  today.'  " 

There  fell  an  hour  of  a  never-to-be-forgotten 
day  when  the  pink  dress  lay  on  the  dining-room 
table,  full  length,  finished,  marvelous  to  little  eyes 
with  its  yards  and  yards  of  Valenciennes  lace  that 
graduated  in  width  from  very  narrow  to  one  broad 
band  around  the  bottom  of  the  skirt.  Suzanna, 
Maizie,  Peter,  and  even  the  baby  bowed  before 
the  miracle  of  beauty. 

"  How  many  yards  of  lace  are  on  it,  mother?  " 
asked  Suzanna,  for  the  sixth  time,  and  for  the 
sixth  time  Mrs.  Procter  looked  up  from  her  sew- 
ing machine  at  which  she  was  busy  with  the  green 
petticoat  and  answered:  "A  whole  bolt,  Su- 
zanna." 

The  children  at  this  information  stared  rounder- 
eyed  and  then  turned  to  gaze  with  uncovered  awe 
at  Suzanna,  the  owner. 


64  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  Do  you  think,  mother,"  asked  Maizie,  "  that 
when  I'm  older  I  can  have  a  pink  dress  with  no 
trimming  of  yours  on  it?  " 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  who  knew  how 
strictly  to  the  letter  she  was  held  to  her  promises. 

Now  Suzanna  reluctantly  left  the  dress  and 
went  to  her  mother.  "  Mother,"  she  cried,  softly, 
"  when  I  recite  '  The  Little  Martyr  of  Smyrna  ' 
up  on  the  big  platform,  I'm  afraid  I  won't  be 
humble  in  spirit.  It's  too  much  to  be  humble,  isn't 
it,  when  you've  got  a  whole  bolt  of  lace  on  your 
dress?" 

Mrs.  Procter,  quite  used  to  Suzanna's  intensi- 
ties, answered,  running  the  machine  deftly  as  she 
spoke:  "Oh,  you'll  be  all  right,  Suzanna.  The 
minister  means  something  else  when  he  preaches 
of  being  humble.  What  bothers  me  now  is  how 
to  manage  a  pair  of  shoes  for  you.  Yours  are  so 
shabby." 

"  Can't  I  wear  my  patent  leather  slippers?  " 

"  You've  outgrown  them,  Suzanna.  They're 
too  short  even  for  Maizie,  you  remember." 

"  I  could  stand  them  for  that  one  time, 
mother." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Procter  decidedly;  "  I  should 
be  distressed  seeing  you  in  shoes  too  small  for 
you." 


THE  NEW  DRESS  65 

"  Mother,  you  could  open  the  end  of  my  patent 
leather  slipper  so  my  toes  can  push  through  and 
then  put  a  puff  of  black  ribbon  over  the  hole !  " 
The  idea  was  an  inspiration,  and  Suzanna's  eyes 
shone. 

Mrs.  Procter  saw  immediately  possibilities  in 
the  idea.  Years  of  working  and  scheming  and 
praying  to  raise  her  ever  increasing  family  on  the 
inadequate  and  varying  income  of  her  inventor 
husband  had  ultimated  in  keen  sensibilities  for 
opportunities.  "  Why,  I  think  I  can  do  that,"  she 
said.  "  I'll  make  a  sort  of  shirred  bag  into  which 
your  toes  will  fit  and  so  lengthen  the  slipper  and 
cover  the  stitching  with  a  bow.  I  hope  I  can  find 
a  needle  strong  enough  to  go  through  the  leather." 
Her  face  was  bright,  her  voice  clear.  She  was  all 
at  once  quite  different  from  the  weary,  dragged 
mother  of  the  past  few  days,  determined  against 
all  odds  to  finish  the  dress  so  the  cleaning  might 
be  started  the  following  week. 

Suzanna  gazed  delightedly.  With  the  fine  intu- 
ition of  an  imaginative  child  she  understood  the 
reason  for  the  metamorphosis.  It  was  the  quick- 
ening of  the  senses  that  rallied  themselves  to  meet 
and  solve  a  problem  that  brought  a  high  glow; 
stimulated,  and  uplifted.  She  herself  was  no 
stranger  to  that  glow. 


66  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

She  put  her  arms  about  her  mother's  shoulder. 

"  Isn't  it  nice,  mother,  to  have  to  think  out 
things?" 

A  little  puzzled,  Mrs.  Procter  looked  at 
Suzanna.  Then  her  face  cleared. 

"  O,  I  understand.  It  is  —  can  you  understand 
the  word,  Suzanna  —  '  exhilarating  '  sometimes." 

"  I  feel  what  the  word  means,  mother  —  like 
catching  in  your  breath  when  you  touch  cold 
water." 

"  Exactly.    Now  please  get  the  slippers." 

Suzanna  ran  upstairs.  Returning,  slippers  in 
hand,  she  found  the  other  children  had  left. 

"Has  Maizie  got  the  baby?"  Suzanna  asked 
anxiously. 

Her  mother  smiled.  "  Yes,  I  carried  him  out 
to  the  yard.  He's  kicking  about,  happy  on  his 
blanket." 

Suzanna,  relieved,  handed  the  slippers  to  her 
mother. 

"  And  I  brought  my  old  black  hair  ribbon. 
That  will  do  for  the  shirring,  won't  it,  mother?  " 

"  Nicely." 

Together  they  evolved,  worked,  tried  on,  com- 
pleted. 

"  It's  more  fun  doing  this  than  going  to  Bry- 
son's  and  buying  a  new  pair,  isn't  it,  mother?  " 


THE  NEW  DRESS  67 

"  Well,  I  believe  it  is,  daughter." 

"  I  feel  so  warm  here  —  "  Suzanna  touched  her 
heart  —  "  because  we're  doing  something  harder 
than  just  going  out  to  the  store  and  buying  what 
we'd  like." 

Mrs.  Procter  gazed  at  her  handiwork  reflect- 
ively. "  Well,  it  does  make  you  feel  that  youVe 
accomplished  a  great  deal  when  you've  created 
something  out  of  nothing." 

Mrs.  Procter  rose  then,  touched  the  new  dress 
lovingly,  and  said:  "So,  we  can  put  it  away 
now,  Suzanna;  it's  quite  finished.  The  petticoat 
needs  just  a  button  and  buttonhole." 

Suzanna  stood  quite  still.  At  last  she  looked 
up  into  her  mother's  face  and  put  her  question: 
"  When  will  you  begin  to  cut  the  goods  out  from 
under  the  lace,  mother?  " 

Mrs.  Procter,  her  thoughts  now  supperward, 
spoke  abstractedly:  "  Oh,  we'll  not  do  that." 

There  was  a  silence,  while  the  room  suddenly 
whirled  for  Suzanna.  Recovering  from  the  dizzi- 
ness, with  eyes  large  and  black  and  her  face  very 
pale,  Suzanna  gazed  unbelievingly  at  her  mother. 
For  a  moment  she  was  quite  unable  to  speak. 
Then  in  a  tiny  voice  which  she  endeavored  to  keep 
steady,  she  asked:  "  Not  even  from  under  the 
wide  row  round  the  bottom,  mother?  " 


68  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  No,  Suzanna,"  Mrs.  Procter  answered,  quite 
unconscious  of  the  storm  in  the  child's  breast.  She 
moved  towards  the  door. 

"  But,  mother,  listen,  please."  Suzanna's  hands 
were  locked  till  they  showed  white  at  the  knuckles. 
"  If  you  don't  cut  the  goods  away  the  green  petti- 
coat won't  gleam  through  the  lace !  You  see,  it's 
a  rose  dress  and  a  rose  has  shining  green  leaves, 
just  showing." 

The  plea  was  ardent,  but  Mrs.  Procter  was 
firm.  Indeed  she  did  not  glance  at  Suzanna.  The 
reaction  from  her  days  of  hard  and  continuous 
work  was  setting  in.  She  merely  said:  "  Suzanna, 
we  must  make  that  dress  last  a  long  time.  I  made 
it  so  that  it  can  be  lengthened  five  inches.  We 
can't  weaken  it  by  cutting  the  goods  away  from 
under  the  lace.  Now,  dear,  go  and  see  that  the 
children  aren't  in  mischief.  I  must  start  supper." 


CHAPTER  V 

SUZANNA  COMES  TO  A  DECISION 

THE  children  were  playing  contentedly  in  the 
road,  Suzanna  assured  herself.  And  finding 
them  so,  she  wandered  disconsolately  back  to  the 
front  porch,  where  seated  in  a  little  rocking  chair 
she  stared  straight  before  her.  She  felt  as  one 
thrown  suddenly  from  a  great  height.  One  mo- 
ment she  had  been  thrillingly  happy,  the  next,  the 
bitter  fruit  of  disappointment  touched  her  lips. 
So  events  occur  lightningly  quick  in  this  world.  The 
day  itself  was  as  beautiful  as  it  had  been  an  hour 
before,  yet  its  sun  had  ceased  to  shine  for  little 
Suzanna,  since  the  crowning  touch  of  The  Dress, 
the  poetic  completeness  of  it,  was  denied  her. 

Years  ago  it  seemed  she  had  wakened  in  the 
morning  after  dreaming  of  a  rose  gown  with  its 
glimpses  of  cool  green  flickering  through  rows  of 
open  lace;  but  no  more  could  she  dream,  since  that 
lace  was  now  condemned  to  blindness,  unable  even 
to  hint  at  concealed  beauties,  and  this  because 
Economy,  the  stern  god  of  the  Procter  home,  so 
ordained. 

69 


70  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Two  tears  at  last  found  their  slow  way  down 
her  cheek.  Not  the  least  of  her  woe  was  caused 
by  the  realization  that  now  the  dress  was  inglo- 
riously  what  Maizie  had  termed  it,  a  pale  pink 
lawn  at  ten  cents  a  yard,  bearing  no  appeal  to  her 
imagination,  fulfilling  no  place  in  Suzanna's  great 
Scheme  of  Things. 

Suzanna's  distress,  as  the  days  passed,  did  not 
abate.  She  never  spoke  of  the  dress,  nor  did  she 
go  to  look  at  it  as  it  hung  shrouded  in  cheese  cloth 
in  the  hall  closet  upstairs.  No  longer  did  she  look 
forward  with  delight  to  the  day  when  feelingly  she 
should  recite  the  troubles  and  the  heroism  of 
"  The  Little  Martyr  of  Smyrna." 

Instead  she  went  quietly  about  performing  her 
customary  duties,  finding  for  the  time  no  real  zest 
in  life. 

Mrs.  Procter,  innocent  of  the  cause  of  Suzan- 
na's listlessness,  spoke  no  word.  She  wondered 
why  the  child  had  lost  interest  in  the  festival, 
indeed  in  all  things  pertaining  to  the  occasion.  It 
was  difficult,  she  finally  decided,  to  know  how  to 
cope  with  a  child  so  complex,  so  changeable.  She 
determined  to  treat  the  new  mood  with  indiffer- 
ence, as  being  the  most  potent  method.  So  she 
asked  of  Suzanna  the  performance  of  daily  duties 
just  as  usual.  When  she  discovered  Suzanna  gaz- 


SUZANNA  COMES  TO  A  DECISION  71 

ing  at  her,  Maizie  close  beside  her  with  the  same 
degree  of  reflection  in  her  gray  eyes,  Mrs.  Procter 
grew  uncomfortable,  then  a  trifle  irritable.  Both 
children  seemed  to  regard  her  as  an  alien,  one,  for 
the  time,  quite  outside  their  pale. 

Suzanna,  then,  had  taken  Maizie  into  her  con- 
fidence. 

"  One  needs  be  clairvoyant,"  Mrs.  Procter  told 
her  husband  one  evening,  "  to  know  what  passes 
through  small  minds." 

"  Clairvoyant  and  full  of  patience,"  he  an- 
swered, looking  up  from  his  color  book.  "  I  can 
remember  even  now  my  own  sensations  when  at 
times  my  mother  failed  to  go  with  me  into  my  land 
of  dreams." 

Mrs.  Procter  cast  her  memory  back  over  the 
events  of  several  days. 

"  I  can't  think  what  has  so  changed  Suzanna," 
she  said  at  last;  "  I've  disappointed  her,  I  fear, 
about  something  or  other.  Dear  me,  what  insight 
versatile  children  do  demand  in  a  mother.  And 
Suzanna  takes  everything  so  very  seriously.  And 
Maizie  stares  at  me  too,  with  a  little  bewildered 
expression.  It's  strange  that  Maizie,  with  all  her 
literalness,  can  understand  at  times  Suzanna's  dis- 
appointments when  her  fancies  are  not  given  due 
value.  For,  of  course,  it  is  some  fancy  of  Suzan- 


72  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

na's  that  I've  either  not  noticed,  or  perhaps 
laughed  at."  She  paused  to  smile  at  her  husband. 

"  Such  children  come  of  giving  them  an  in- 
ventor father,  an  '  impractical  genius,'  as  I've 
heard  myself  in  satire  called." 

She  flushed  up  angrily  at  this. 

"  You've  done  wonderfully  well,"  she  said,  and 
believed  the  assertion;  just  as  though  at  forty 
to  weigh  nails  correctly  and  to  sell  so  many  yards 
of  garden  hose  a  week  was  a  fine  measure  of  suc- 
cess. "  And  your  name  will  go  ringing  down  the 
ages."  She  would  never  let  him  lose  confidence 
in  his  own  powers.  Circumstances  alone  had 
thrown  him  into  a  mediocre  position  in  a  small 
town,  but  they  should  never  hold  him  down. 

He  grew  beneath  her  look;  beneath  her  belief 
in  him.  And  so  the  conversation  ended  on  the 
personal  note;  ended  with  hands  clasped  and  fond 
eyes  seeing  each  the  other's  charm  after  many 
years. 

Suzanna,  arranging  the  pantry  the  next  morn- 
ing, sought  her  mother  upstairs  with  a  domestic 
announcement. 

"  The  vinegar  bottle  is  empty,"  she  said. 

"  And  the  gherkins  all  ready,"  cried  Mrs. 
Procter.  "  Will  you  run  over  to  Mrs.  Reynolds 
and  ask  her  for  some  vinegar,  Suzanna?  " 


SVZANNA  COMES  TO  A  DECISION  73 

Listlessly,  Suzanna  returned  downstairs,  and 
from  the  pantry  procured  a  cup.  Slowly  she  left 
the  house,  walked  down  the  front  path  and  across 
the  road  to  Mrs.  Reynolds'  home.  Arrived  there, 
she  went  round  to  the  back  door  and  knocked  with 
slack  knuckles. 

Mrs.  Reynolds,  a  white  cloth  tied  about  her 
forehead,  opened  the  door.  She  gave  out  redo- 
lently  the  pungent  odor  of  the  commodity  Suzanna 
sought  to  borrow. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  was  stout  and  comfortable  look- 
ing ordinarily.  A  quaint  and  interesting  person- 
ality, sprung  from  Welsh  parentage,  she  fitted 
into  the  life  of  Anchorville  only  because  of  a  cer- 
tain natural  adaptability.  She  seemed  to  belong 
to  a  wilder,  more  passionate  people  than  those 
plain  lives  which  surrounded  her. 

Suzanna  knew  her  tenderness,  her  tragic  depres- 
sions. She  loved  her  deep  voice,  her  resonant 
tones,  all  her  quick  changes  of  mood,  and  her 
occasional  strange  ways  of  expression,  revealing 
her  understanding  of  men  and  women's  vagaries. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  adored  Suzanna.  She  had  said 
often  there  was  one  thing  she  coveted  from  her 
neighbor,  and  that  was  her  neighbor's  child. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  had  no  children  and  in  that 
deplorable  fact  lay  her  keenest  unhappiness. 


74  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

She  greeted  Suzanna  cordially. 

"  Come  in,  Suzanna,  come  in,"  she  said.  "  I've 
been  using  vinegar  and  red  pepper  all  morning," 
she  continued,  as  she  went  her  way  to  the  pantry 
with  Suzanna's  cup.  "  I've  one  of  my  old  head- 
aches." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Suzanna,  with  imme- 
diate sympathy.  "  Have  you  been  worrying?  " 

"  Not  more  than  usual,  Suzanna,"  said  Mrs. 
Reynolds  with  a  sigh.  "  Here's  your  vinegar. 
Hold  it  steady.  Vinegar's  a  bad  thing  to  spill." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Suzanna,  politely,  as  she 
received  the  cup.  And  then :  "  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  worry.  You  have  no  children.  It's 
mother's  many  children  that  sometimes  give  her 
worry." 

"  Your  mother'd  have  worries  even  without 
you  all,"  returned  Mrs.  Reynolds.  "  Won't  you 
sit  down  a  spell,  Suzanna?  " 

"  No,  I  can't,  mother's  waiting."  Suzanna 
walked  toward  the  door,  pausing  on  her  way  to 
glance  about  her.  "  My,  but  you're  very  clean 
here,"  she  said,  appreciatively.  "  Your  cleanness 
is  different  from  ours.  Ours  doesn't  show  so." 

"  There's  no  little  hands  to  clutter  things  up," 
said  Mrs.  Reynolds,  but  her  voice  wasn't  glad. 

Suzanna,   intuitively  sensing  the   real   trouble, 


SUZANNA  COMES  TO  A  DECISION  75 

said:  "  Reynolds  slammed  the  door  this  morn- 
ing, Mrs.  Reynolds.  We  heard  the  slam  in  our 
dining-room  and  my  mother  jumped."  Suzanna 
quite  innocently  borrowed  Mrs.  Reynolds'  way  of 
referring  to  her  husband. 

Mrs.  Reynolds'  face  darkened.  "  Yes,  I  know 
he  did.  That  man  is  getting  more  like  a  bear 
every  day." 

"  He  liked  our  twin  that  went  away,  Mrs. 
Reynolds.  He  wasn't  like  a  bear  when  he  played 
with  her." 

At  this  statement  Mrs.  Reynolds  suddenly 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  sobbed: 
"That's  just  it,  Suzanna,  that's  just  it;  there 
aren't  any  little  cluttering  fingers  about." 

Suzanna  set  the  vinegar  cup  carefully  down  on 
the  table,  the  while  her  keenly  sensitive  mind 
worked  rapidly.  Those  gifts  which  by  dint  of 
their  frequency  in  her  own  home  seemed  rather 
overdone  were  actually  missed  here!  A  strong, 
deep  sympathy  for  Mrs.  Reynolds'  disappoint- 
ment grew  within  her,  but  did  not  entirely  crowd 
out  the  thought  that  through  this  very  disappoint- 
ment her  own  burning  desire  might  be  brought  to 
pass.  She  now  went  swiftly  and  touched  the  weep- 
ing woman. 

"  Mrs.   Reynolds,"   she  began,   "  will  you  tell 


76  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

me  how  you  feel  about  cutting  pink  goods  away 
from  under  lace.  Can  you  afford  to  do  that?  " 

Mrs.  Reynolds'  apron  came  down  with  a  jerk, 
and  for  a  second  she  stared  her  perplexity  at  the 
upturned,  earnest  little  face.  Then  with  quick 
understanding  which  revealed  her  real  mother- 
spirit,  she  answered:  "Why  land,  Honey-Girl, 
Reynolds  makes  pretty  good  money  at  times.  I 
guess  we  can  do  about  as  we  please  in  most  simple 
ways." 

"  Well,  then,  keep  your  apron  down,"  advised 
Suzanna ;  "  and  just  think  this  thought  over  and 
over:  '  Reynolds  is  not  going  to  be  cross  any 
more !'  Thank  you  again  for  the  vinegar,  I  must 
be  going  now." 

It  was  not  without  misgiving  that  Suzanna 
started  immediately  to  put  her  secret  plan  into 
execution.  And  her  judicious  side  urged  the  com- 
pletion of  all  details  before  she  said  anything  to 
those  most  nearly  concerned  in  her  new  move. 
Only  to  Maizie,  whose  constant  attendance  she 
skillfully  managed  to  elude  while  she  made  her 
simple  preparations,  did  she  at  last  give  any  con- 
fidence, and  it  was  in  this  manner  she  spoke : 

"There's  going  to  be  a  great  change,  Maizie; 
and  tonight  you  must  manage  to  stay  awake  to  do 
something  for  me." 


SUZANNA  COMES  TO  A  DECISION  77 

Maizie,  at  once  interested,  grew  wildly  expect- 
ant. Though  she  could  send  up  no  airships  of 
her  own,  she  loved  to  contemplate  Suzanna's  dar- 
ing flights. 

"  I'll  do  anything,  Suzanna,"  she  promised. 

So  Suzanna  gave  Maizie  her  news.  Hearing 
it,  Maizie's  lips  quivered,  but  she  kept  back  the 
tears  by  the  exercise  of  great  control.  They  were 
upstairs  in  their  own  room.  It  was  late  afternoon. 
Peter  was  out  playing.  Mrs.  Procter,  the  baby 
with  her,  was  downtown  ordering  groceries, 

"  Now,  you  mustn't  cry,  Maizie,"  said  Su- 
zanna; "  it  all  had  to  be,  and  what  is  to  be  is  for 
the  best."  Suzanna  quoted  from  Mrs.  Reynolds. 
"  Go  downstairs  and  get  father's  dictionary." 

Maizie  obeyed,  returning  quickly  with  the  de- 
sired book. 

"  And  now  stand  at  the  window  so  as  to  tell 
me  when  you  see  mother  coming." 

So  Maizie  took  her  stand  while  Suzanna  la- 
bored hard  with  the  pen.  An  hour  passed.  Once 
Suzanna  flew  downstairs  to  the  kitchen,  then 
returned  to  her  work.  At  last,  Maizie  in  excited 
tones  announced  that  her  mother  and  the  baby 
had  turned  the  corner.  Suzanna  laid  down  her 
pen. 

"  Well,  it's  all  finished,"  she  said. 


78  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Maizie  looked  at  her  sister.  Now  the  tears 
came,  blurring  the  big  gray  eyes. 

"  You  mustn't  cry,  Maizie,"  said  Suzanna, 
trying  to  subdue  her  own  emotions. 

"  Couldn't  you  just  wear  the  dress  as  it  is?" 
asked  Maizie  in  a  small  voice,  touching  the  crux 
of  the  whole  matter,  the  cause  of  the  great  change. 

"  I  just  couldn't,"  Suzanna  returned.  "  It 
wouldn't  be  a  rose  blossom,  you  see,  Maizie,  when 
it  could  just  as  well  be  one." 

Maizie  nodded.  Perhaps  she  understood  Su- 
zanna's  sense  of  waste.  Undoubtedly  her  grief  at 
Suzanna's  contemplated  step  had  sharpened  her 
sensibilities.  Vague  stirrings  told  her  that  the 
artist  in  Suzanna  had  been  desperately  hurt;  and 
for  the  once  her  imagination  thrilled  as  did  her 
sister's  to  the  dress  as  a  Rose  Blossom.  She  knew 
with  passion  that  it  could  not  remain  simply  pink 
lawn  cut  and  slashed  into  a  mere  garment. 

So  she  went  softly  to  Suzanna  and  touched  her 
gently. 

"  I'll  help  you  all  I  can,  sister,"  she  said. 

So  it  was  that  just  as  the  clock  was  striking  nine, 
little  Maizie  stole  from  her  room  —  shared  as 
long  as  she  remembered  with  Suzanna  —  crept 
down  the  stairs  and  into  the  parlor  where  her 
father  sat  studying,  as  always,  a  formidable  book, 


SUZANNA  COMES  TO  A  DECISION  79 

the  while  her  mother  sat  sewing,  her  chair  drawn 
close  to  his.  Maizie  went  straight  to  the  quiet 
figure. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  Suzanna  told  me  to  stay 
awake  till  the  clock  struck  nine  and  then  to  give 
you  this." 

"  This  "  was  a  note  folded  into  the  shape  of  a 
cocked  hat,  which  Suzanna  thought  very  elegant. 
Mrs.  Procter,  accustomed  to  Suzanna's  ways,  un- 
folded the  note,  smiled  at  the  large  printed  letters, 
sighed  a  little  at  the  thought  of  the  great  effort 
put  into  their  forming,  read  once,  twice,  then  sat 
up  very  straight.  The  note  thus  told  its  own 
story : 

My  Loving  Mother: 

I  have  given  myself  to  the  Reynolds  for  there  own. 
Mrs.  Reynolds  is  not  happy  with  Reynolds'  slams  of  doors 
and  crossness  be  cause  they  have  no  child.  They  will  be 
pretty  sprised  to  see  me  to  night  and  glad  with  my  big 
shiny  bag  witch  I  have  borrowed  from  my  once  very 
loved  father.  I  have  my  pink  dress  witch  will  soon  be  a 
rose  in  it  and  my  other  things.  I  wore  my  hat  and  coat 
even  if  it  is  warm.  You  will  not  miss  me  much  because 
the  last  baby  went  away  and  a  baby  always  makes  more 
work.  And  anyway  one  little  girl  out  of  a  big  family 
wont  make  any  difrunce.  But  if  you  want  any  fine 
errands  ran,  you  can  borrow  Mrs.  Reynolds  new  child. 
Tell  father  I  am  loving  my  naybor  as  myself.  It  hurt 


80  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

me  till  something  stopped  inside  to  see  Mrs.  Reynolds 
put  her  apron  over  her  head  at  Reynolds  slams.  Per- 
haps the  mother  angel  that  stops  at  our  house  all  the 
time  will  pause  at  Mrs.  Reynolds'  next  time  and  leave  a 
bundle,  thinking  when  I'm  there  a  family  don't  have  to 
be  started  which  is  always  hard,  I  suppose.  Mother, 
please  don't  forget  about  borrowing.  It  is  not  polite  to 
come  2  often  even  to  borrow  me  for  some  thing  big.  It 
took  me  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes  to  write  this  while 
you  were  at  the  butshers  and  grosers  and  Maizie  at  the 
window.  I  had  to  stop  too,  to  watch  the  beans  on  the 
stove.  I  have  labored  over  some  of  the  big  spelling  with 
fathers  dicsionary  on  my  knee,  remembering  to  make  all 
my  i's  big  I's. 

Farewell  forever, 

Suzanna  Reynolds. 

P.  S.  Mrs.  Reynolds  can  afford  to  cut  away  the 
goods  from  under  all  lace,  which  makes  my  heart  jump! 
Perhaps  tho  even  tho  I'm  sorry  for  her,  if  she  hadn't 
promised  to  cut  away  the  goods  from  under  the  lace  in 
my  pink  dress,  I  wouldn't  have  adopted  myself  out  to  her. 
So  I  shall  see  you  when  I  recite  "  The  Little  Martyr  of 
Smyrna  "  with  the  green  showing  through  the  windows 
of  my  many  yards  of  lace.  O,  Mother,  I  couldn't  bare 
to  ware  that  dress  which  is  just  a  dress  when  it  could  be 
a  rose. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Mr.  Procter, 
attracted  by  the  strange,  almost  solemn  silence. 
"What's  the  trouble,  Jane?" 


SUZANNA   COMES  TO  A  DECISION  81 

She  handed  the  note  to  him,  waited  while  he 
read  it  through  not  once,  but  many  times,  as  she 
had. 

He  passed  it  back  to  her.  "  Shall  we  go  for 
her?  "  he  asked. 

But  she  shook  her  head.  u  Sometimes  I  don't 
know  just  how  to  act  where  Suzanna's  concerned," 
she  said.  She  folded  the  note.  "  No,  sometimes 
I  feel  just  helpless." 


CHAPTER  VI 

SUZANNA  MAKES    HER  ENTRY 

MR.  AND  MRS.  REYNOLDS  were  in  the 
kitchen,  she  belatedly  washing  the  supper 
dishes,  he  smoking  his  pipe  near  the  window.  She 
lent,  through  her  vivid  personality,  color  to  him. 
Big,  hearty,  he  was  not  picturesque.  He  seemed 
to  take  note  of  realities  more  than  she  did.  Per- 
haps springing  from  emotional  folk,  she  stood 
with  a  quality  of  rich  background  denied  to  him 
by  a  line  of  unimaginative  ancestors. 

He  read  his  big  books,  she  found  truths  in  her 
own  heart.  She  found  a  quick,  tender  language 
springing  from  her  understanding.  He  used  his 
words  like  bludgeons. 

Still  they  loved  one  another,  and  her  deepest 
hurt  was  that  he  wanted  that  which  she  could  not 
give  him.  So  she  placed  his  longing  before  hers 
and  grieved  most  for  his  lack. 

The  front  door-bell  rang.  They  looked  at  one 
another  wonderingly,  then  Mr.  Reynolds  slowly 
withdrew  his  feet  from  the  window  sill  and  went 
as  slowly  down  the  hall.  He  opened  the  door  to 

82 


SUZANNA  MAKES  HER  ENTRY  83 

Suzanna,  who  stood  waiting,  conventionally 
attired  in  hat  and  cloak,  pale,  and  with  eyes  wide 
and  dark. 

"  Good  evening,  Reynolds,"  said  Suzanna. 

"  O !  good  evening,  come  in,  come  in,"  urged 
Mr.  Reynolds  hospitably,  but  totally  at  a  loss  as 
he  looked  at  the  little  figure.  "  Come  right  out 
to  the  kitchen." 

Suzanna  followed  him.  When  once  in  the 
kitchen,  she  stood  for  a  moment  blinking  in  the 
light  streaming  from  the  hanging  lamp  under 
which  Mrs.  Reynolds  stood;  then  she  said: 

"  I've  come  to  you,  Mrs.  Reynolds,  to  stay. 
I've  adopted  myself  out  to  you." 

"  Well,  I  never,  dear  love !  "  was  all  Mrs. 
Reynolds  could  say  as  she  wiped  her  hands  on  a 
convenient  roller  towel. 

Mr.  Reynolds  laughed.  "  Oh,  you  think  you'd 
like  a  change  of  homes,  Suzanna?  " 

Suzanna  turned  to  him  then.  She  spoke  quietly, 
but  decisively  so  he  might  perfectly  understand. 
"  No,  that's  not  it,  Reynolds.  I  love  my  little 
home;  but  first  I  don't  want  Mrs.  Reynolds  to 
throw  her  apron  over  her  head  at  your  slams. 
And  second  it's  for  myself  I  come,  because  you 
can  afford  to  do  something  for  me  my  own  mother 
thinks  she  can't  on  account  of  little  money." 


84  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

But  Mr.  Reynolds  caught  only  the  first  reason. 
"  What  do  you  mean,  young  lady,  about  slammin' ; 
that's  what  I  want  to  know."  His  tone  was  bel- 
ligerent. Mrs.  Reynolds  threw  him  a  withering 
look.  "  Here,  Suzanna,"  she  said;  "  give  me  the 
bag,  and  you  sit  down.  Take  your  hat  off,  my 
brave  little  lass.  'Twas  but  you  and  you  alone 
could  think  of  this  sweet  thought." 

44  I'd  rather  have  things  settled  before  I  take 
my  hat  off,"  said  Suzanna.  She  relinquished  the 
bag,  however,  and  seated  herself  in  the  chair  Mrs. 
Reynolds  pulled  forward.  Then  she  went  on: 
44  You  know,  Reynolds,  you  do  slam  doors  and 
make  Mrs.  Reynolds  cry.  And  you  know,  any- 
way, you  oughtn't  to  blame  Mrs.  Reynolds  because 
you  get  no  visits.  It  may  be  just  as  much  your 
fault  because  the  mother  angel  don't  like  your 
ways." 

She  paused  a  moment  before  continuing.  "  And, 
anyway,  my  father  never  blames  mother  for  any- 
thing, only  when  she's  tired  and  cries  he  remem- 
bers to  love  her  even  if  he's  on  the  way  upstairs 
to  the  attic  to  his  wonderful  Machine,  and  he  puts 
his  arm  about  her  waist,  though  mother  says  it's 
much  larger  now  than  it  was  years  ago.  That's 
what  my  father  that  used  to  be,  does." 

44  Why  bless  my  soul !  "   blustered   Mr.   Rey- 


SUZANNA  MAKES  HER  ENTRY  85 

nolds,  his  face  a  fine  glowing  color;  "  bless  my 
soul!  "  he  repeated,  removing  his  shoes  and  slam- 
ming them  down,  as  he  always  did  under  stress. 
"  Women,  my  dear,  will  make  up  all  sorts  of 
stories.  If  I  did  give  the  door  a  bit  of  a  slam,  it 
was  because  the  bacon  didn't  set  right,  perhaps. 
And  a  woman's  always  fancying  things." 

"  But  you  don't  put  your  arm  about  her,  you 
know  that,  Reynolds.  I  was  born  in  this  town 
and  I've  never  seen  you  put  your  arm  about  her." 

Mrs.  Reynolds'  apron  was  over  her  head  again, 
but  she  made  no  sound.  Her  husband  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  ran  his  fingers  through 
his  thick  hair.  Then  he  stared  helplessly  at  Su- 
zanna.  She  rose  valiantly  to  the  occasion. 

"  If  you  say,  '  There,  there,  don't  cry,  you 
should  have  married  a  better  man,'  she'll  say: 
'  There  couldn't  be  a  better  '  and  take  her  apron 
down."  Thus  innocently  Suzanna  exposed  a  ten- 
der home  method  of  salving  hurts,  and  her 
listener,  as  near  as  his  nature  could,  appropriated 
the  method.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  went 
softly  to  his  wife.  At  her  side  he  hesitated  in 
sheer  embarrassment,  but  as  she  began  to  sob,  he 
hurriedly  repeated  Suzanna's  formula :  "  There, 
there,  dear,  don't  cry.  I'm  a  bad  'un,  I  am  —  " 

Mrs.    Reynolds    lowered    her    shield.     "  You 


86  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

know  better  than  that,  Reynolds,"  she  denied, 
almost  indignantly.  "  You're  a  good  provider, 
with  a  bit  of  a  temper." 

"  Well,  out  with  it  then.  What  is  the  trouble  ? 
I'm  willing  to  do  what  I  can,  even  occasionally  to 
doing  what  the  little  lass  suggests."  And  with 
the  words,  his  big  arm  went  clumsily  about  his 
wife,  the  while  he  looked  at  Suzanna  for  approval. 
She  nodded  vigorously,  her  eyes  shining. 

"  It's  just  this,  then,  Reynolds,"  the  words  were 
now  a  whisper,  and  the  big  red-faced  man  had  to 
stoop  to  hear.  "  It's  that  I'm  achin'  all  the  time 
to  hold  one  in  my  arms;  and  always  to  you  I've  let 
on  that  I  didn't  care.  An'  —  an'  —  I  know  the 
hunger  in  your  own  fine  heart,  my  lad." 

Mr.  Reynolds'  face  grew  wonderfully  soft; 
indeed,  tender  in  a  new  understanding.  "  I  didn't 
know,  Margie,  that  you  grieved.  Come,  look  up. 
You  and  me  are  together  anyway." 

"  And  you  have  me,  now,  too,"  broke  in  Su- 
zanna, eager  to  help.  "  I'm  going  to  stay  with 
you  forever'n  forever,  only  except  when  my 
mother  that  used  to  be  wants  to  borrow  me  back. 
Now,  I'll  go  to  bed,  if  you  please." 

And  then  one  swift,  cuddling  memory  of  little 
Maizie  alone  in  bed  across  the  street  brought  the 
hot  tears  to  Suzanna's  eyes,  but  she  winked  them 


SUZANNA  MAKES  HER  ENTRY  87 

resolutely  back  as  she  lifted  the  black,  shiny  bag. 

"  Tomorrow,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Reynolds,  "  you 
can  cut  the  goods  away  from  under  the  lace  on 
my  pink  dress,  can't  you?"  She  went  on,  not 
waiting  for  an  answer.  "  Shall  I  go  right  along 
upstairs?  " 

Mrs.  Reynolds  spoke  gently:  "Yes,  Suzanna. 
Did  you  tell  your  mother  you  were  coming  to  me 
to  be  my  own  lass?  " 

"  I  wrote  her  a  letter." 

Suzanna  on  her  way  upstairs  waited  a  moment 
while  Mrs.  Reynolds  whispered  directions  to  her 
husband:  "You  run  across  to  the  little  home 
while  I  put  her  to  bed."  Then  looking  wistfully 
up  into  his  face:  "  Do  you  think  she'll  let  me 
undress  her?  " 

'  That  young'un  will  do  anything  to  make  you 
happy,  Margie." 

From  the  top  of  the  stairs  the  words  floated 
down:  "Are  you  coming  —  mother  —  " 

Suzanna's  voice  choked  on  the  word,  but  Mrs. 
Reynolds  heard  only  the  exquisite  title.  She  lifted 
her  face,  glowing  like  a  heaven  of  stars. 

"  I'm  coming,  Suzanna,"  she  called.  And  she 
went  swiftly  up  the  stairs  to  the  little  girl.  "  This 
night  you  sleep  under  the  silk  coverlet  —  and 
more  I  couldn't  do  for  royalty !  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

REGRETS 

SUZANNA  woke  the  next  morning  to  a  reali- 
zation that  she  was  in  a  strange  place.  She 
occupied  a  large  bed,  too  large,  it  seemed  to  her, 
for  one  small  girl.  And  even  the  silken  coverlet 
failed  to  assuage  the  sudden  wave  of  homesick- 
ness which  threatened  to  engulf  her. 

She  lay  thinking.  A  clock  on  the  dresser 
showed  her  the  hour  to  be  seven.  Maizie  would 
be  up  and  downstairs.  She  would  have  buttoned 
Peter  and  would  be  carrying  the  blue  dishes  from 
the  pantry  to  the  dining-room.  Father  would  be 
in  the  attic  for  a  glance  at  his  beloved  Machine 
before  obeying  mother's  cheerful  call  to  breakfast. 

Suzanna  choked  back  a  lump  insistent  upon 
rising  to  her  throat.  Across  the  way  was  home 
and  she  had  adopted  herself  out  of  it!  Here  all 
was  quiet,  and  comfortable,  very  comfortable. 
The  mattress  was  thick,  her  small  body  quite  sank 
into  its  depths;  the  bed  she  shared  with  Maizie, 
she  had  realized  on  occasions,  had  lumps,  and  no 
silken  coverlet  spreading  itself  brilliantly.  Still 

88 


REORETS  89 

there  were  rare  and  beautiful  compensations  for 
the  lack  of  thick  mattresses  and  silken  coverlets 
—  and  greatest  grief  to  her  of  all  was  that  she 
stood  no  longer  a  daughter  to  a  great  man ! 

The  tears  came  perilously  near.  Suzanna 
choked  them  back  as  she  heard  "  Reynolds  " 
close  the  front  gate  with  what  to  him  was  a  gentle 
click.  She  felt  that  in  a  moment  Mrs.  Reynolds 
would  summon  her  downstairs  to  a  breakfast  hot 
and  delicious. 

Why  had  she  left  home  if  she  loved  it  so! 

The  sentence  formed  itself  in  her  mind. 

Well,  she  hadn't  realized  that  home  and  those 
in  it  were  so  dear  till  she  left.  And  her  reason 
was  a  good  one.  It  had  seemed  she  could  scarcely 
live  possessed  of  a  dress  whose  sweet  possibilities 
were  denied  by  a  mother's  spirit  of  economy. 
Never  had  she  so  intensely  wished  for  anything 
as  for  the  goods  to  be  cut  away  from  under  the 
rows  of  lace. 

Still  now,  lying  there  alone  in  her  strange  sur- 
roundings, that  desire  was  losing  its  poignancy. 
It  didn't  seem  quite  to  fill  her  entire  universe. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  put  her  head  inside  the  door. 
She  wore  a  crisp  blue  and  white  dress,  her  black 
hair  was  drawn  smoothly  back  from  her  brow. 
Her  eyes  dwelt  lovingly  on  the  little  girl. 


90  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  Quite  awake,  Suzanna?  "  she  asked. 

Suzanna  nodded.  She  couldn't  trust  herself  to 
speak. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Reynolds,  "  I'm  going 
to  give  thee  a  treat."  She  went  away  quite  uncon- 
scious that  she  had  fallen  into  her  original  quaint 
method  of  speech. 

Presently  she  returned,  carrying  a  tray  covered 
with  a  white  and  red  napkin. 

Suzanna  sat  up,  received  the  tray  in  her  lap  and 
waited  unexcitedly  while  Mrs.  Reynolds  removed 
the  enshrouding  napkin. 

There  lay  an  orange  cut  up  and  sugared;  a 
poached  egg  on  a  slice  of  perfectly  browned  toast, 
and  a  glass  of  rich  milk. 

"  For  my  little  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Reynolds  in  her 
contralto  voice.  "  Now  eat  thee,  my  dearie,  and 
take  your  time.  I'll  leave  now." 

Alone  once  more,  Suzanna  surveyed  the  tray. 
She  lifted  a  spoon  with  the  tiniest  piece  of  orange 
on  its  tip,  and  found  strangely  that  when  she 
attempted  to  swallow  the  fruit  her  throat  quite 
closed  up. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  memory  of  Drusilla. 
Drusilla  had  told  of  the  little  silver  chain,  bind- 
ing all  to  one  another.  Surely  the  chain  binding 
Suzanna  to  her  mother  was  doubly  thick,  yet  she 


REGRETS  91 

had  broken  it!  She  put  the  tray  to  one  side  and 
sprang  from  the  bed.  Her  desire,  recently  so 
keen,  so  all  absorbing,  seemed  little  indeed  beside 
the  yearning  now  to  be  back  across  the  way  once 
again  her  Mother's  Child. 

Mrs.  Reynolds,  returning,  found  her  little  guest 
at  the  window,  bare  feet  on  the  cold  floor;  the 
white  gown  held  tightly  at  the  neck  by  a  small, 
trembling  hand.  A  glance  at  the  tray  on  the  bed 
revealed  a  breakfast  practically  untasted. 

"  Why,  my  lamb,"  began  Mrs.  Reynolds,  "  not 
a  bite  gone  down  I  " 

Suzanna  turned,  a  desperate  little  face  she 
showed,  eyes  wide  and  appealing. 

"  I  just  couldn't  eat,  Mrs.  Reynolds."  No 
thought  now  of  bestowing  the  beloved  title. 

"  And  the  food  brought  fine  to  bed  to  you." 

"  Not  even  then." 

"Well,  come  then,  dear  heart;  you  must  be 
dressed.  I  put  your  clothes  away  neat  and  tidy." 

Mrs.  Reynolds  opened  a  closet  door  and 
brought  forth  an  armful  of  garments.  Suzanna 
surveyed  them  as  though  they  had  no  relation  to 
her. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  went  suddenly  and  picked  up 
the  little  figure,  carried  her  to  a  rocking  chair  and 
with  no  word  held  her  close. 


92  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  What  is  it,  my  little  girl?  "  asked  Mrs.  Rey- 
nolds after  a  time,  softly. 

Her  little  girl !  Suzanna  winced.  But  she  was 
Mrs.  Reynolds'  little  girl  now.  Hadn't  she  broken 
all  ties  with  the  loved  ones  across  the  way? 

She  tried  to  find  comfort  in  Mrs.  Reynolds'  joy. 
"  I  am  your  little  girl,  aren't  I?  "  she  asked  softly, 
calling  valiantly  on  her  sense  of  justice. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  looked  searchingly  into  Suzan- 
na's  face.  With  no  child  of  her  own,  she  was  still 
a  mother-at-heart.  She  was  full  of  understanding. 

"  As  much,  my  own  lassie,"  she  answered,  "  as 
any  other  woman's  child  can  be.  You  see,"  she 
went  on  after  a  pause,  "  there's  a  bond  'tween 
mother  and  child  that  can't  ever  be  broke." 

"  But  I  adopted  myself  out  to  you,"  said 
Suzanna,  though  her  heart  was  beating  with  hope. 

"  Yes,  you  did,"  admitted  Mrs.  Reynolds;  "  but 
you  didn't  at  that  break  the  tie  that  binds  you  to 
your  own  mother.  You  could  never  do  that, 
Suzanna,  lassie." 

As  Suzanna  looked  up  into  the  kind  face,  new 
thoughts  came  surging  to  her.  She  couldn't  sepa- 
rate them,  couldn't  arrange  them.  They  all  jum- 
bled together,  like  vivid  picture  impressions,  full 
of  color  and  feeling.  One  thought  at  length 
cleared  itself,  stood  out. 


REGRETS  93 

Love  and  the  chain  binding  you  to  those  you 
loved  was  the  biggest  thing  in  the  world. 

So  she  told  Mrs.  Reynolds  about  Drusilla's 
chain.  And  Mrs.  Reynolds,  greatly  impressed, 
said:  "Yes,  it's  a  blessed  thread  that  holds  us 
together.  Reynolds  calls  it  the  '  sense  of  broth- 
erhood.''  Her  voice  lowered  itself:  "He's  a 
Socialist,  Reynolds  is,  Suzanna."  There  was  pride 
and  fear  mixed  with  a  little  condemnation  in  her 
voice. 

"  A  Socialist  —  it's  a  nice  word,  isn't  it?  "  said 
Suzanna,  settling  more  comfortably  into  the  hol- 
low of  Mrs.  Reynolds'  arm. 

"  And  I'm  going  to  see  Drusilla,  as  you  call 
her,"  said  Mrs.  Reynolds,  "  and  take  her  some  of 
my  crab  jelly.  I've  seen  her  many's  the  time  sit- 
ting out  in  the  yard  with  naught  but  a  trained 
maid  by  her.  Poor,  poor  old  soul,  with  a  rich 
daughter-in-law." 

"  And  a  King  that's  gone  to  the  Far  Country," 
said  Suzanna;  "  and  she  longs  for  him.  Oh,  she's 
a  lonely  old  lady." 

"  She  must  be  that  and  all,"  said  Mrs.  Rey- 
nolds, wholly  sympathetic. 

They  sat  rocking  then  in  silence.  Suzanna  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

"  Mrs.  Reynolds,"  she  began  in  a  low  voice. 


94  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  I  think  I'll  dress  now,  and  after  I've  helped 
with  the  breakfast  dishes  I'll  go  and  see  my 
mother." 

The  heartbreak  in  the  small  voice  touched 
Mrs.  Reynolds  deeply.  "  Why,  small  lass,"  she 
cried :  "  You  mustn't  think  I'll  hold  you  to  your 
giving  yourself  away  to  me.  No,  not  even  for  a 
bit  of  time.  Sweet,  you  gave  me  joy  last  night.  I 
pretended  that  you  were  my  own.  I  undressed  you 
and  put  you  to  bed,  and  heard  your  prayers.  You 
did  something  for  me,  and  I  be  vastly  grateful 
to  you." 

Suzanna's  eyes  brightened.  "  Oh,  thank  you 
for  saying  all  that,  Mrs.  Reynolds." 

"  Yes,  you  came  to  me  in  the  night  with  your 
shiny  bag,  and  you  told  in  your  little  way  some 
truths  to  Reynolds.  You  made  him  see  clear  and 
farther  than  he  has  for  many  a  day,  the  fine  man 
though  he  is,  and  I'll  always  hold  you  in  my  heart 
as  my  dream  child." 

"  Your  dream  child  —  and  I'll  dream  for  you 
—  that  you  should  have  your  heart's  desire  like 
the  fairies  say,"  finished  Suzanna. 

"  Ah,  lack-a-me,"  cried  Mrs.  Reynolds.  "  Who 
e'er  gets  his  deepest  heart  desire  in  this  drear 
world?" 

Suzanna  sprang  to  her  feet. 


RECRETS  95 

"  Oh,  but  heart's  desires  change." 

"Change!" 

"  Yes.  You  can  have  new  ones  every  day. 
Why,  for  many  days  my  deepest  heart's  desire  has 
been  to  have  the  goods  cut  away  from  under  the 
lace.  Now,  I  don't  care  so  much  for  that  —  not 
so  much  —  Now  I  want  most  in  the  world  to 
see  —  my  —  mother  —  " 

Fearful  that  she  had  hurt  Mrs.  Reynolds  by 
her  confession,  she  put  out  her  hand  and  stroked 
the  capable  hand  lying  near. 

But  Mrs.  Reynolds  wasn't  hurt.  She  was  smil- 
ing. "  Well,  it's  a  hard  thing  at  times  to  learn 
to  put  one  wish  in  place  of  another.  But  I  guess 
life  teaches  you  that;  it  hurries  you  forward  so 
you  have  to  put  wish  on  wish."  She  stood  up. 
"  And  now,  the  morning's  well  started,  Suzanna. 
Dress  quickly  and  come  down  to  a  warm  break- 
fast." 

She  raised  the  tray  and  Suzanna  knew  that  now 
she  was  hungry. 

"  Come  down  when  you're  ready,  my  wee  bit 
girl,"  said  Mrs.  Reynolds,  as  she  left,  carrying 
the  tray  with  her. 

So  Suzanna  in  a  short  time  descended  How 
restful  the  house  was;  no  insistent  voices  of  chil- 
dren, no  clattering  of  dishes. 


96  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  It's  so  quiet  and  nice  here,  Mrs.  Reynolds," 
said  Suzanna,  as  she  entered  the  kitchen.  "  At 
home  there's  lots  of  talking  and  sometimes  the 
baby  cries." 

"  Do  you  like  quiet,  Suzanna?  " 

"  Ye-es,"  Suzanna  stammered.  A  recurrent 
attack  of  homesickness  was  upon  her;  that  dread- 
ful pulling  of  the  heartstrings;  that  sinking  feel- 
ing that  she  had  cut  herself  loose  from  all  to 
whom  she  belonged  rightfully. 

She  stood  still  watching  Mrs.  Reynolds  who 
was  busy  at  the  stove.  She  admired  the  deftness 
with  which  an  egg  was  broken  and  dropped  into 
boiling  water,  and  in  a  few  seconds  brought  to  the 
top  intact,  to  be  placed  upon  the  awaiting  toast. 

"  You're  awful  quick,  Mrs.  Reynolds,"  she 
started  to  say  when  a  knock  sounded  upon  the 
door. 

The  door  slowly  opened  and,  alone,  Suzanna's 
mother  entered. 

She  stood  just  looking  in.  She  was  pale,  her 
eyes  wide,  languid,  shadows  beneath  them  as 
though  she  had  not  slept.  But  those  same  tired 
eyes  lightened  as  they  fell  upon  Suzanna. 

"  Mother-eyes,"  the  phrase  grew  in  Suzanna's 
heart.  She  should  never  in  all  her  life  forget  that 
look  of  longing,  of  love. 


REGRETS  97 

And  somehow  another  impression,  new,  almost 
unbelievable,  came  to  Suzanna.  Her  mother  was 
young,  for  wasn't  that  yearning  note  in  her  voice; 
that  tentative  little  gesture;  her  whole  question- 
ing attitude,  all  her  seekings,  but  expressions  of 
her  youngness?  She  wasn't  after  all  far  removed 
from  her  little  daughter,  not  for  this  minute,  any- 
way. A  delicious  sense  of  comradeship  with  this 
mother  flooded  the  child. 

And  the  mother  stood  and  looked  at  her  child, 
almost  as  for  the  first  time,  at  least  with  a  sense 
of  newness,  as  though  Suzanna  had  been  born 
anew  to  her. 

In  the  night  a  far  reaching  understanding  had 
come  to  her.  It  came  out  of  her  conclusion  to 
strike  a  blow  at  the  child's  oversensitiveness  by 
a  full  dose  of  ridicule;  by  accusing  her  of  affecta- 
tion, a  clever  playing  to  the  gallery;  this  when  the 
night  was  early,  and  the  mother  still  aching  with 
weariness  from  the  day's  many  tasks.  And  then 
as  the  hours  wore  on,  and  the  quiet  soothed  her 
weary  nerves,  the  knowledge  came,  flashing  out  of 
the  ether,  as  often  it  does  for  serious  mothers, 
that  the  gift  of  keen  sensibility,  of  intense  desire 
was  too  valuable  to  be  quenched. 

What  if  Suzanna  began  to  question  her  own 
motives;  what  if  she  should  lose  belief  in  her  own 


98  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

spiritual  integrity;  learn  in  time  to  look  in  on  her- 
self with  a  spirit  of  morbid  analysis  instead  of 
living  out  her  natural  qualities  beautifully  and 
spontaneously  I 

All  these  truths  stirred  her  again  as  she  looked 
at  her  child. 

While  Suzanna  didn't  move  from  her  place,  she 
wanted  to  stay  at  some  distance  that  she  might 
look  her  soul's  full  at  her  mother —  her  mother! 

At  length  she  spoke:  "  Mother — I  want  to 
be  your  little  girl  again.  Will  you  take  me 
back?" 

Would  she  take  her  back?  Mrs.  Procter's 
arms  opened  wide.  Into  them  Suzanna  flew. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  regarded  the  cold  poached  egg, 
the  second  one  spoiled  that  morning.  Furtively 
she  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  At  last  she 
cleared  her  voice  and  spoke : 

"  I'll  go  upstairs  and  pack  your  bag,  Suzanna," 
she  said. 


T 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SUZANNA  MEETS  A  CHARACTER 

HAT  summer  was  a  happy  one,  filled  to  the 
brim,  as  Suzanna  often  said,  with  joyful 
times.  In  her  pink  lawn  dress  with  the  petticoat 
after  all  showing  through  the  lace,  she  recited 
"  The  Little  Martyr  of  Smyrna  "  and  brought 
much  applause  to  herself. 

And  then  following  close  upon  that  happy  occa- 
sion, Miss  Massey  invited  her  pupils  to  a  "  lawn 
party."  Once  again  the  pink  dress  was  to  see  the 
day. 

"  I'll  be  very  careful  with  the  dress,  mother," 
Suzanna  promised  on  the  day  of  the  lawn  party. 
"  Perhaps  it'll  wear  just  as  long  if  I  take  extra 
care  of  it  as  though  the  goods  weren't  cut  away." 

"  Enjoy  your  dress,"  said  Mrs.  Procter.  She 
had  learned  another  truth  which  had  sprung  from 
the  episode  of  the  pink  lawn.  Economy  might, 
indeed  must  dwell  in  a  little  home  like  hers,  but 
sometimes,  recklessly,  the  stern  goddess  must  be 
usurped  from  her  place.  For  the  child  love  of 
beauty,  the  child's  capacity  for  fine  imaginings, 
could  not  be  killed  at  the  nod  of  economy. 

99 


100  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

The  children  were  both  ready  and  waiting  anx- 
iously at  the  front  window  long  before  the  hour. 
Maizie  was  the  first  to  make  her  announcement. 

"  Miss  Massey's  coming  down  the  path,"  she 
cried. 

They  all  crowded  to  the  window.  Miss  Mas- 
sey,  looking  up,  waved  her  hand  gaily,  and  the 
children  delightedly  waved  back. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Massey,  we're  all  ready  for  you," 
Maizie  exclaimed  at  once  as  Miss  Massey  entered. 

"  Lovely,"  Miss  Massey  returned.  Glancing 
casually  at  her,  she  appeared  young,  yet  looking 
closely  it  might  be  seen  that  her  first  youth  was 
over.  She  was  perhaps  in  her  middle  thirties.  Her 
hair  beneath  the  simple  blue  chip  hat,  had  gray 
strands.  There  was  a  hesitating  quality  about 
her,  as  though  she  had  never  done  so  daring  a 
thing  as  reach  a  decision;  a  wavering,  indefinite 
figure,  with  a  wistfulness,  a  soft  appeal,  quite 
charming.  That  she  had  never  come  in  contact 
with  realities  showed  in  the  wide  innocence  of  the 
childlike  eyes;  the  sometime  trembling  of  the  lips 
as  when  a  thought  as  now  engendered  by  the 
Procter  home  and  its  humbleness,  its  lack  of  many 
real  comforts,  forced  its  way  into  the  untouched 
depths  of  her  mind. 

She  was  the  only  child  of  old  John  Massey. 


SUZANNA  MEETS  A  CHARACTER  101 

He  was  a  large  figure  in  the  small  town,  and  one 
not  cordially  admired.  He  was  masterful,  chol- 
eric, some  claimed,  unjust.  Owner  of  the  steel 
mill  which  stood  just  outside  of  the  town  limits, 
the  employer  of  hundreds  of  men,  he  had  failed 
to  gain  the  esteem  of  one  human  being.  Fear, 
for  many  depended  upon  him  for  their  livelihood, 
was  the  emotion  he  most  inspired. 

Fairfax  Massey,  his  daughter,  inspired  a  deep 
sympathy,  perhaps  because  her  leading  character- 
istic was  a  pitiable  holding  to  her  ideals.  She 
painted  her  father  as  a  good  and  loving  man  hid- 
ing his  real  tenderness  beneath  gruff  mannerisms. 
When  he  denied  her  friendship  with  the  man  she 
secretly  loved,  she  put  upon  that  denial  a  high 
value.  He  could  not  bear  to  run  the  chance  of 
losing  her,  his  one  close  possession.  To  that 
chivalrous  thought  of  her  father,  she  sacrificed 
her  friend  and  went  her  way,  undramatically,  un- 
complainingly. 

She  spoke  in  a  low  sweet  voice.  "  The  chil- 
dren will  have  a  happy  time,  I'm  sure,  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter," she  said,  as  she  left,  Suzanna  and  Maizie 
clinging  to  her. 

Other  little  girls  were  waiting  in  the  phaeton. 
They  greeted  Suzanna  and  Maizie  and  moved  to 
make  room  for  them.  Miss  Massey  took  her  place 


102  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

near  the  driver,  from  which  vantage  spot  she  could 
watch  her  little  guests,  and  with  a  great  flourish 
oft  they  started. 

"Are  you  quite  comfortable,  Suzanna?  "  Miss 
Massey  asked  once. 

Suzanna  looked  up  quickly,  a  puzzled  line  be- 
tween her  eyes.  After  brief  hesitation  she  an- 
swered, merely  in  good  manners,  "  Yes,  thank 
you." 

The  phaeton  stopped  several  times  till  eight 
little  girls  filled  the  vehicle  to  overflowing.  Then 
with  no  more  pauses,  they  were  off  to  the  big 
house  on  the  hill. 

The  day  was  wonderful.  A  soft  little  breeze 
caressed  the  children  and  the  sky  overhead  was 
like  an  angel's  breast,  thought  Suzanna.  But  she 
did  not  say  this,  even  to  excited  Maizie;  she  was 
gathering  impressions  and  burnishing  them  with 
her  vivid  imagination.  Once  her  gaze  fell  on 
Miss  Massey's  long,  slender,  tired-looking  hands. 
Her  mother's  hands,  Suzanna  recalled,  were  tired- 
looking,  too,  but  in  a  different  way.  Her  moth- 
er's, she  decided  after  a  time,  were  just  plain 
tired-looking,  while  Miss  Massey's  were  a  sorry 
tired,  as  though  they  missed  something.  They 
were  never  quiet,  always  doing  futile  little  things. 
And  yet,  Miss  Massey  lived  in  a  wonderful  house 


SUZANNA  MEETS  A  CHARACTER     103 

and  wore  pretty  dresses  and  hats  with  gorgeous, 
real-looking  flowers.  Suzanna  pondered  unan- 
swerable questions. 

The  driver,  with  the  air  of  a  brave  knight, 
swept  round  the  last  corner.  He  commanded  his 
horses  to  stand  still,  when  even  the  smallest  girl 
knew  he  would  have  to  urge  and  coax  for  a  full 
minute  before  the  fat,  complacent  animals  would 
start  again.  But  Suzanna  liked  his  play.  It  was 
in  keeping  with  this  wondrous  event.  She  even 
forgave  the  driver  his  wrinkled  red  neck,  from 
which  as  she  sat  behind  him,  she  had  earlier  de- 
liberately turned  away  her  eyes. 

The  children  sprang  to  the  ground  and  stood 
looking  up  at  the  big  pile  of  stone,  this  great  show 
house  of  the  town.  Miss  Massey  swung  back  an 
iron  gate  and  led  the  way  first  through  an  arbor, 
sun--shaded  and  fragrant;  then  out  again  into  a 
garden  glowing  with  crimson  flowers.  "  The  gar- 
den I  love  best,"  she  said.  This  from  simple, 
dear  Miss  Massey  into  whose  whole  life  no  great 
color  had  fallen,  or  if  there  was  once  a  promise 
that  life  should  blossom  for  her  into  a  full,  joy- 
ous thing,  the  promise  had  fallen  very  short  of 
fulfillment. 

And  just  then  the  disaster  befell  Suzanna. 
There  in  the  wonderful  red  garden,  a  dire  sound 


104  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

fell  upon  her  ears  and  her  eyes  following  the 
direction  of  the  sound  were  just  in  time  to  see  one 
white  toe  burst  through  the  confines  of  the  black 
ribbon  lengthening  her  slipper. 

She  stood  a  moment,  gazing  down.  Then  in 
an  agony  lest  the  others  should  discover  her 
plight,  she  tried  to  draw  the  toe  back  within  the 
slipper,  but  with  no  success.  As  Miss  Massey 
and  the  little  girls  walked  on,  Suzanna  stopped 
and  pulled  the  ribbon  over  the  protruding  toe, 
tucking  in  the  ravelled  edges.  Mercifully,  the 
ribbon  stayed  in  place  since  Suzanna  cramped  her 
toe  back  that  it  might  not  force  its  way  through 
again.  Hastily  hopping  along,  she  entered  the 
massive  front  doors  held  wide  by  a  solemn  man 
with  brass  buttons.  He  pointed  down  the  wide 
hall.  "  To  the  right,"  he  said. 

Would  the  ribbon  hold!  was  Suzanna's  only 
thought  as  she  later  found  herself  in  a  room  called 
the  library,  with  books  and  soft-toned  pictures; 
with  a  great  fireplace  banked  now  with  greens, 
from  above  which  looked  down  the  lovely  face 
of  a  lady,  Miss  Massey's  mother  whom  the 
daughter  scarce  remembered. 

If  only  she  had  worn  black  stockings  instead 
of  her  one  beloved  pair  of  white,  went  on  in 
thought,  unhappy,  humiliated  Suzanna.  If  only 


SUZANNA  MEETS  A   CHARACTER  105 

—  but  in  conjecture  Suzanna  was  lost.  The 
cramped  toe  exerting  its  right,  thrust  itself 
through  again.  One  fleeting,  horrified  glance  told 
the  child  that  two  toes  now  peeped  out  on  a  world 
that  would  be  scandalized  should  it  peep  back. 

No  time  now  for  any  furtive  maneuver  an 
active  little  mind  might  suggest  to  remedy  the  situ- 
ation, for  Miss  Massey  at  the  end  of  the  room 
turned  her  head  and  looked  toward  Suzanna's 
place.  In  a  second  her  eyes  might  fall  on  the 
white  toes !  Quickly  Suzanna  sank  into  a  large 
velvet  armchair  and  drew  her  foot  beneath  her. 
Just  in  time,  for  Miss  Massey  said:  "  Shall  we 
play  the  game  of  'Answers?'  You  know  the 
game,  Suzanna,  don't  you?  " 

Suzanna  moistened  her  lips:  "  I  know  it,  Miss 
Massey,  but  I  don't  care  to  play  games,  thank 
you."  How  could  she  move,  since  doing  so  would 
necessitate  putting  confidence  in  Miss  Massey? 
Telling  her  that  once  discarded  slippers  too  small 
even  for  Maizie  had  been  made  to  do  duty  by  cut- 
ting the  toes  and  lengthening  with  black  ribbon, 
ribbon  which  in  a  miserable  moment  failed  in  its 
work?  But  how  eventually  to  extricate  herself 
from  the  miserable  predicament?  She  could  not 
sit  forever  on  her  foot! 

Other  games  were  suggested  and  played  by  the 


106  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

children,  but  Suzanna  still  sat  in  the  big  armchair, 
one  long  thin  leg  dangling,  the  other  bent  under 
her.  She  grew  fertile  in  excuses  when  asked  to 
join  the  others.  She  like  to  "  watch,"  then  she 
felt  a  little  tired,  until  Miss  Massey  at  last  sens- 
ing that  something  was  wrong  did  no  more  urg- 
ing. 

Once  little  Maizie  sought  her  sister.  Why 
wouldn't  Suzanna  play?  Was  she  mad  at  some- 
thing? 

Suzanna  gulped  hard,  then  with  manifest  effort 
she  whispered:  "You  know  where  mother  put 
the  ribbon  bag  so  my  slippers  would  be  long 
enough?  Well,  my  toe's  stuck  through  the  rib- 
bon, and  I  mustn't  move." 

"Oh!"  Maizie  was  sorry.  "Can't  you  tell 
Miss  Massey  and  let  her  fix  it?  " 

Suzanna  shrank  back.  "  No,  no,"  she  cried. 
"  You  mustn't  say  anything,  do  you  hear,  Maizie? 
Promise  me." 

Maizie  solemnly  promised.  "  Will  the  other 
one  hold?  "  she  asked  then. 

Thus  the  little  Job's  Comforter  gave  Suzanna 
food  for  unpleasant  questionings.  Would,  in- 
deed, the  other  slipper  hold? 

Then  said  Miss  Massey:  "  We  are  going  into 
the  garden,  Suzanna.  Would  you  rather  stay 


SUZANNA  MEETS  A   CHARACTER  107 

here  till  we  return?  "  Her  question  was  very  gen- 
tle, her  understanding  would  have  been  very  sure 
had  Suzanna  told  her  trouble.  But  Suzanna  only 
answered  eagerly: 

"  Yes,  I'd  like  to  stay  here."  She  was  almost 
happy  in  the  moment's  relief. 

"  If  you  wish  to  come  later  you  can  find  us. 
Just  ring  this  bell  and  Mrs.  Russell,  the  house- 
keeper, will  take  you  to  the  South  Garden,"  said 
Miss  Massey.  She  leaned  down  and  touched 
Suzanna's  face  with  her  soft  lips.  And  then 
Suzanna  was  left  alone. 

Now  what  to  do!  Suzanna  set  her  fertile  lit- 
tle mind  to  work  on  the  problem.  She  settled  into 
the  chair  and  lowered  the  foot  on  which  she  was 
sitting.  She  was  intently  regarding  the  torn  slip- 
per, when  she  heard  distinctly  an  unpleasant 
sound.  A  sound  which  gathered  volume,  till 
Suzanna  realized  that  something  or  someone  was 
approaching  the  library.  She  resumed  her  for- 
mer position,  and  waited  I 

The  brocade  curtains  were  drawn  aside;  a  lit- 
tle man  in  a  sort  of  uniform  stood  with  head 
bowed,  while  a  large  man  limped  into  the  room. 

"  Fix  my  chair,  you  simpering  idiot,"  he 
shouted  at  the  little  man,  "  and  then  take  your- 
self off !  " 


108  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

The  small  man  glided  to  a  great  easy  chair 
near  the  fireplace.  He  heaped  pillows  in  it,  stood 
aside  while  the  loud-voiced  one  lowered  himself, 
groaningly,  into  the  downy  nest.  Then  the  valet 
disappeared.  Suzanna  involuntarily  glanced  at 
his  feet.  Did  he  move  on  velvet  casters? 

A  moment,  then  the  big  man  gave  a  twist  of 
pain.  A  rheumatic  dart  had  seized  him,  had 
Suzanna  known,  but  she  could  not  know,  and  a 
little  exclamation  was  drawn  from  her.  At  the 
sound,  the  other  occupant  of  the  room  started  and 
glanced  around  till  finally  his  eyes  came  to  rest 
upon  the  small  girl  in  a  large  chair  thrust  well 
away  in  a  shadowy  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Well!  "  at  length  he  ejaculated.  And  then: 
"  Are  you  one  of  the  Sunday  School  class?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  Suzanna  Procter.  The  other  little 
girls  have  gone  out  into  the  garden." 

He  grunted  and  continued  to  glare  fiercely  at 
her.  But  Suzanna  knew  no  fear.  She  felt 
strangely  a  sudden  high  sense  of  exhilaration,  just 
as  once  when  she  had  been  caught  in  a  brilliant 
electric  storm.  Some  element  in  her  rose  and 
responded  to  the  big  flashes;  just  as  she  had  re- 
sponded to  Drusilla's  play  of  imagination.  Now 
a  force  was  roused  in  her  that  claimed  kinship 
with  the  big,  thunderous  man  opposite.  She  sat 


SUZANNA  MEETS  A  CHARACTER  109 

up  very  straight,  and  stared  right  back  at  him. 
Then  she  said  very  calmly: 

"  You  look  like  an  eagle !  " 

"  Then  you're  afraid  of  me  1  "  He  flung  the 
words  at  her  with  a  certain  triumph. 

"  I'm  not!  I  don't  like  the  way  you  shout,  but 
I'm  not  afraid  of  you." 

He  sank  back  among  his  pillows,  but  did  not 
take  his  eyes  from  her  face.  At  last  he  asked: 
"  What  are  you  sitting  bent  up  that  way  for? 
Are  you  hiding  anything?  " 

Suzanna  flushed.  "  You're  not  supposed  to  ask 
a  visitor  if  she's  hiding  anything;  especially  when 
her  leg's  asleep  and  she's  suffering." 

A  spasm  crossed  his  face.  Perhaps  he  was  try- 
ing to  smile.  He  said  only:  "Well,  put  your 
leg  down,  then.  Seems  to  me  you're  old  enough 
and  ought  to  have  sense  enough  not  to  sit  on  it 
when  it's  asleep.  Put  it  down,  I  say!  " 

She  did  not  move.  "  Will  you  please  turn  your 
head  away  a  whole  minute?  "  she  finally  asked. 

He  did  so,  somewhat  to  his  own  surprise.  He 
was  unaccustomed  to  obeying  others.  When  he 
turned  again,  she  uttered  a  cry:  "Why  didn't 
you  keep  your  head  turned  the  other  way  till  I 
told  you  to  look,"  she  exclaimed,  indignantly. 
"  You  don't  play  fair." 


110  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  See  here,  little  girl,"  he  commenced,  when  his 
eyes  fell  to  her  foot,  which  for  the  moment  she 
had  forgotten,  a  small  black-shod  foot  with  two 
protruding  toes.  "  Eh,  what's  that !  " 

"  My  toes!  "  she  answered.  Her  face  flamed, 
then  with  sudden  anger  against  him,  against  cir- 
cumstances, against  everything  that  had  conspired 
to  spoil  this  beautiful  and  long-dreamed-of  day: 
"  They're  sticking  through  my  slipper.  That's 
why  I  had  to  sit  on  my  foot.  That's  why  my  leg 
went  to  sleep.  That's  why  I  couldn't  go  out  in 
the  garden  with  the  others." 

He  began  to  laugh,  silently,  mirthlessly,  but  it 
was  laughter  nevertheless.  Suzanna  regarded 
him,  her  quick  temper  getting  beyond  her  control. 
At  last  she  burst  forth:  "You're  a  rude  man! 
And  it  isn't  funny  to  miss  beautiful  things,  the 
flowers  and  the  baby  squirrels,  and  perhaps  lem- 
onade." 

He  didn't  answer  for  a  moment.    Then  he  said : 

"  Agreed!  But  it's  certainly  funny  to  see  your 
toes  sticking  through  your  shoe.  No  wonder  you 
sat  on  your  foot."  Still,  despite  his  discourteous 
words,  his  tone  changed;  it  was  almost  apologetic. 

Suzanna's  face  lost  its  clouds.  "  Of  course,  I 
had  to  sit  on  my  foot,"  she  agreed.  "  I  couldn't 
let  Miss  Massey  see  how  mother  put  a  black  rib- 


bon  bag  on  my  slippers  to  make  them  longer, 
could  I  ?  She  wouldn't  understand  like  you  do, 
would  she?  " 

"  Do  I  understand?  I  wonder.  Well,  why  did 
your  mother  put  on  the  black  ribbon?  " 

"  The  shoes  were  too  short !  " 

"  She  should  have  bought  you  a  new  pair." 

Suzanna  sprang  from  her  chair  and  went  to  the 
big  man. 

"  Do  you  know  what  rent  week  means?  "  she 
asked,  lifting  her  earnest  face  to  his  and  stand- 
ing so  close  that  her  hand  touched  his  knee. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  he  answered. 

"  Well,  this  is  rent  week  and  Peter's  coat  was 
out  at  the  elbows  and  two  of  us  needed  shoes  and 
the  insurance  was  due  on  all  of  us  and  mother 
can't  let  that  go.  It  came  in  very  handy  when 
Helen,  Peter's  twin,  went  away." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  went  away?  '  Don't 
lean  on  that  knee,  that's  where  the  rheumatism  is 
—  do  you  mean  died?  " 

Suzanna  flinched.  "  We  say  *  went  away,'  "  she 
answered  gently;  "you  think  then  that  someone 
you  loved  has  just  gone  away  for  a  little  while, 
and  is  waiting  somewhere  for  you." 

The  man's  gaze  wandered  up  to  the  lovely, 
smiling  face  above  the  mantel  and  stayed  there 


112  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

a  space  before  his  eyes  came  back  to  Suzanna. 

"  And  so,"  she  finished,  "  because  everything 
came  together,  rent  and  insurance  and  shoes,  and 
a  coat,  I  had  to  wear  these  slippers."  Suzanna 
was  quite  cheerful  again,  only  very  eager  that  he 
should  understand  the  situation. 

At  this  moment  the  timid  little  valet  appeared 
in  the  doorway.  "  Anything  you  wish,  sir?  "  he 
began.  "Are  you  quite  comfortable?" 

'  You  infernal  idiot!  "  bawled  the  man  in  the 
chair.  "  Can  anyone  be  comfortable  with  rheu- 
matism in  his  knee?  " 

The  little  man  precipitately  retired.  "  You're 
awful  cross,"  Suzanna  commented.  "  What  does 
the  man  mean  asking  if  you're  'comfortable?' 
That's  what  Miss  Massey  asked  me  in  the  park 
carriage.  I  was  sitting  down,  and  nothing  hurt 
me." 

"  In  other  words,"  he  answered,  strangely 
catching  her  meaning  at  once,  "  one  chair  is  like 
another  to  you." 

'Well,  is  there  any  difference?"  she  queried. 
She  was  very  much  interested  in  this  question,  for 
the  subtleties  of  refined  comfort  held  no  place  in 
her  life.  Knowledge  of  luxuries  was  quite  outside 
the  ken  of  the  younger  members  of  the  Procter 
family. 


SVZANNA  MEETS  A   CHARACTER  113 

The  big  man  said:  "  Yes,  there  is  a  difference; 
a  decided  difference."  He  was  thinking  of  his 
household  with  its  retinue  of  trained  servants, 
each  helping  to  make  the  days  revolve  smoothly. 

"  Why  aren't  you  at  work?  "  asked  Suzanna 
then.  "  My  father  works  every  day  in  the  hard- 
ware store  and  sometimes  way  into  the  night  on 
his  invention  in  the  attic.  He  doesn't  have  a  chair 
filled  with  pillows  to  lean  against.  Does  God  like 
you  better  than  He  does  us?  " 

"  Eh,  what's  that?    What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Because  you  don't  have  to  work!  And  you 
think  one  chair  is  better  than  another  to  sit  in, 
and  you  can  shout  at  the  little  man  and  make  him 
afraid." 

"  Well,  we'll  not  talk  of  that,"  said  the  big 
man  testily.  "  And  now  I'll  ask  you  a  few  ques- 
tions. What  does  your  mother  do  when  rent  week 
comes  round?  Cry,  and  throw  up  to  your  father 
the  fact  that  she  can't  make  ends  meet?  That's 
what  women  generally  do,  I've  heard  and  read." 

"  Oh,  no,  my  mother  doesn't  do  that,"  said 
Suzanna,  shaking  her  head.  "  She  just  looks  sad 
at  first  and  sits  and  thinks  and  thinks  and  then 
after  awhile  she  says :  '  Well,  if  everybody  was 
thoughtful  we'd  all  have  enough.  But  when  some 
people  waste,  then  others  must  pay  the  piper '  — 


114  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

1  pay  the  piper  '  —  I  like  the  singing  way  that 
sounds,  don't  you?" 

"  And  who  does  she  mean  by  other  people?  " 

Suzanna  smiled  confidently:  "Oh,  she  just 
says  that;  so  no  one  really  is  blamed,  I  guess. 
There  really  isn't  anyone  of  that  kind  living; 
'cause  nobody  in  the  world  could  waste  if  they 
knew  some  children  needed  shoes  and  some  little 
boys'  elbows  stuck  through  their  coats;  would 
anyone?  " 

The  man  looked  at  her  suspiciously.  "  Have 
you  been  listening  to  Reynolds  haranging  on  his 
soap  box?  "  But  seeing  her  innocence,  he  went 
on:  "Well,  we  don't  know  about  those  things. 
There's  some  reason  why."  He  went  on  more 
vigorously:  "Of  course,  some  people  are  privi- 
leged because  they're  stronger;  they've  better 
judgment." 

But  Suzanna  didn't  understand  that.  She  put 
the  matter  aside  to  think  over  later,  and,  if  she 
could  remember  the  words,  to  repeat  them  to  her 
father  for  his  explanation  at  a  time  when  he  wasn't 
hazy  and  far  away  from  realities. 

"  What  does  your  father  do?  "  Suzanna's  com- 
panion resumed  after  a  moment. 

"  He  weighs  nails  in  Job  Doane's  hardware 
store,"  said  Suzanna,  "  and  he  sells  washboards 


SUZANNA  MEETS  A  CHARACTER  115 

to  ladies.  My  father's  a  great  man.  He's  an 
inventor!  He  has  a  wonderful  machine  in  the 
attic  and  sometimes  when  he's  thinking  of  his 
invention,  he  doesn't  see  us  at  all,  and  mother 
tells  us  not  to  talk  then  to  disturb  him." 

"What's  your  father's  name?" 

"  Richard  Procter,"  said  Suzanna.    And  then: 

"  You  are  like  an  eagle;  that's  why  I  like  you. 
You'd  fight,  wouldn't  you,  if  you  had  to !  But  I 
shouldn't  mind  your  shouting.  And  I'd  rather 
you'd  see  my  toes  sticking  through  my  shoe  than 
any  person  in  the  world  outside  my  family.  Now, 
get  me  a  needle  and  thread  before  they  all  come 
back,"  she  finished. 

The  man  stared  into  her  upraised  flower-face. 
His  own  turned  red  for  the  visible  second  of  hesi- 
tation. Then  he  raised  his  voice  and  called.  The 
timid  one  appeared.  His  master  said:  "Get 
me  some  black  thread  and  a  needle;  also  a  thim- 
ble. Don't  stand  there  gaping!  I'm  waiting." 

With  some  difficulty,  the  amazed  valet  gained 
volition  over  his  power  of  locomotion.  He  re- 
turned shortly  bearing  the  desired  articles  repos- 
ing on  a  silver  tray,  and  retired  once  more,  his 
eyes  still  dazed. 

"  Now  hurry  up,"  said  the  big  man  to  Suzanna, 
"  if  you  want  to  get  into  the  garden  at  all." 


116  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Suzanna  threaded  the  needle,  then  removed  her 
slipper.  "  I'll  overcast  the  ribbon,  like  mother 
does  seams,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  hold  the  slip- 
per? There,  that's  easier.  You  see  I  need  both 
hands." 

Silence,  till  the  work  was  finished.  "  Now./' 
said  Suzanna,  stopping  to  bite  the  thread,  no  scis- 
sors being  at  hand,  "  I  guess  no  toe  in  the  world 
could  push  through  that,  I've  stitched  so  tight. 
You  think  it  will  hold,  don't  you?" 

Very  carefully  he  looked  at  the  mended  place. 
"  I  should  say,  if  my  judgment's  worth  anything, 
that  it's  a  very  decent  job.  But  see  here,  you've 
taken  up  such  a  large  seam;  the  shoe  will  be  too 
small  again." 

Suzanna  smiled  at  him.  "  Oh,  that  doesn't 
matter,  just  so  the  toes  can't  burst  through  again," 
she  answered.  "  You  don't  mind  hobbling  a  lit- 
tle bit  when  you  have  to." 

He  cleared  his  throat.  "Well,  I'll  call  the 
housekeeper  and  she'll  take  you  to  the  other  chil- 
dren." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Suzanna  friendlily.  And  then 
very  politely,  "  Thank  you  for  helping  me." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  might  say  you're  welcome." 

But  he  watched  the  small  figure,  that  did  after 
all  "  hobble  "  a  little  all  the  way  down  the  room 


Very  carefully  he  looked  at  the  mended  place 


SUZANNA  MEETS  A   CHARACTER  117 

as  the  summoned  housekeeper  led  the  way.  And, 
left  alone,  he  sat  quite  still  for  a  few  moments. 
Once  or  twice  he  smiled  grimly,  but  several  times 
he  frowned. 

Suzanna  was  full  of  her  experience  with  the 
Eagle  Man,  and  in  spite  of  her  mishap  she  had 
greatly  enjoyed  her  day.  Hadn't  the  fierce  one, 
the  one  of  the  loud  voice  and  cross  face,  been  kind 
to  her  and  helped  her  to  mend  her  slipper?  And 
hadn't  he  told  the  housekeeper  to  give  her  a  great 
bunch  of  the  purple  grapes  especially  procured 
from  the  city  for  him,  she  was  told? 

She  thought  of  all  this  when  she  and  Maizie 
left  the  low  phaeton  in  which  they  had  been  driven 
home.  For  some  indefinable  reason  she  was 
elated,  and  excited  —  an  emotion  far  above  the 
usual  happy  fatigue  felt  after  a  day  of  pleasure. 
She  meant  to  tell  her  father  and  mother  all  about 
her  talk  with  the  Eagle  Man  when  the  supper 
dishes  were  washed  and  put  away.  She  would 
show  her  father  just  how  her  toes  had  thrust  them- 
selves through  her  slipper  and  how  she  had  sat 
upon  her  foot  till  it  went  to  sleep.  Not,  however, 
till  the  setting  was  right  would  she  tell  her  story. 
Suzanna's  unconscious  dramatic  sense  rarely  failed 
her. 


118  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

At  the  supper  table  that  night  the  baby  fell 
asleep  in  his  high  chair.  Peter,  after  a  hard  day 
of  play,  was  nodding  in  his  place.  Maizie,  re- 
plete after  her  third  dish  of  rice  pudding,  was 
quiet;  a  little  sleepy  too,  if  truth  must  be  told. 

It  was  then  Suzanna  told  of  her  visit  with  the 
Eagle  Man.  She  left  out  no  detail,  from  the 
time  her  stocking  burst  its  confines  to  her  inter- 
esting intimacy  with  the  Eagle  Man. 

'  You  told  old  John  Massey,  you  say,  Su- 
zanna," said  her  father  at  length,  his  eyes  bright, 
"  about  my  machine?  " 

Suzanna  nodded.  Then  a  little  fear  stole  upon 
her.  She  slipped  from  her  place  and  went  to  her 
father. 

"Did  I  talk  too  much,  daddy?"  she  asked, 
mindful  of  former  such  indictments. 

His  arm  went  about  her  waist.  Then  he  drew 
her  close  and  kissed  her. 

"No,  Suzanna,  little  girl,"  he  said;  "I  guess 
talk  from  the  heart  rarely  hurts."  He  paused. 
"  Perhaps  it  was  meant  you  should  talk  to  him." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  LEAF  MISSING  FROM  THE  BIBLE 

SUZANNA  thought  a  great  deal  about  the 
Eagle  Man.  She  was  extremely  puzzled  as 
to  the  exact  place  he  filled  in  the  world.  While 
she  admired  him,  indeed  was  strongly  drawn  to 
him,  still  she  considered  him  in  some  ways  quite 
inferior  to  her  father.  And  so  she  wondered  why 
he  could  live  in  a  big  house,  could  have  servants 
who  sprang  at  a  word  to  do  his  bidding,  and 
could  eat  all  the  fruit  he  wanted  as  evidenced  by 
the  great  bunch  of  purple  grapes,  one  of  many 
bunches,  while  her  father  lived  in  a  very  small 
house,  had  no  servants,  and  had  little  fruit  to  eat. 
She  knew  instinctively  that  the  Eagle  Man  had 
no  need  to  worry  about  rent  day,  and  the  many 
other  similar  things  she  felt  harassed  her  father, 
and  over  and  over  again  she  pondered  on  this 
seemingly  unjust  state  of  affairs.  It  would  have 
been  so  much  better,  she  thought,  if  the  Eagle 
Man  occupied  with  his  one  daughter  just  a  little 
cottage  while  the  large  Procter  family  had  the 
bigger  house.  Though  she  dearly  loved  the  lit- 

119 


120  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

tie  home,  there  had  been  times  when  it  seemed 
very  small  for  the  growing  Procter  family. 

But  she  concluded  at  last  that  for  the  present 
there  were  many  perplexities  which  must  remain 
perplexities  till  that  wonderful  time  when  she 
would  be  a  woman,  and  everything  made  clear 
to  her.  Experiences,  too,  had  shown  her  that  a 
troublesome  question  of  Monday  often  had  re- 
solved itself  by  Wednesday.  So  she  went  con- 
tentedly on  her  way. 

On  a  morning  following  Suzanna's  talk  with 
the  Eagle  Man,  Mrs.  Procter  and  all  the  children 
except  the  baby  who  was  taking  his  early  morn- 
ing nap  upstairs,  were  in  the  kitchen  busy  at  their 
tasks,  Suzanna  polishing  the  stove,  and  Maizie 
peeling  the  potatoes  for  supper,  a  task  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter insisted  upon  being  performed  early  in  the 
day.  Peter,  exempted,  because  of  his  sex,  from 
household  duties  —  and  very  unfair  this  exemp- 
tion Suzanna  thought  privately  —  was  trying  his 
awkward  best  to  mend  a  base  ball.  Maizie  broke 
a  rather  long  silence. 

"  Mother!  "  she  cried,  and  then  waited. 

Mrs.  Procter  looked  up  from  her  kneading. 

"  What  is  it,  Maizie?  "  she  asked. 

"  Didn't  Jesus  ever  laugh?  "  asked  Maizie. 

No  one  spoke.     Maizie,  engaged  in  peeling  a 


A  LEAF  MISSINd  FROM   THE  BIBLE         121 

large  potato,  went  on  quite  unconscious  of  the 
variant  expressions  pictured  in  the  faces  of  her 
audience :  "  He's  always  so  sad  in  our  Sunday 
School  lessons,  mother.  Even  when  He  said, 
'  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,'  He  didn't 
smile  —  or  they  never  say  so  when  they  read  the 
chapter,"  she  finished. 

Mrs.  Procter  looked  helplessly  at  Suzanna. 
And  Suzanna  rose  to  the  occasion.  "  Maizie," 
she  said,  "  you  know  Jesus  was  born  in  a  manger 
so  His  mother  didn't  have  much  money  and  it 
was  hard  to  make  both  ends  meet.  And,  besides, 
there  wasn't  anything  to  smile  about  in  those  days 
when  the  world  was  so  fresh. " 

"  I  guess  that's  right,"  Mrs.  Procter  agreed. 
"  What  with  going  round  and  trying  to  persuade 
people  to  be  good  and  understand  what  He  was 
trying  to  tell  them,  there  couldn't  have  been  much 
excuse  for  smiling." 

Maizie,  however,  was  tenacious.  "  Mother, 
you  know  at  times  even  when  things  have  all  gone 
wrong  you've  laughed  at  something  the  baby  did," 
she  said  looking  up  from  her  work. 

'  Yes,  I  know,"  put  in  Suzanna,  as  though  Mai- 
zie had  spoken  to  her.  "  But  mother  doesn't  have 
to  go  round  turning  water  into  wine  and  doing 
lots  of  other  wonderful  things." 


122  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  Well,  I  wish  He  had  smiled,"  Maizie  per- 
sisted. 

Suzanna  looked  searchingly  at  her  sister. 
"  Why  do  you  wish  that,  Maizie?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  I'd  think  then  He  was  more  like  a  big 
brother,"  said  Maizie.  "  Now,  sometimes  I  kind 
of  feel  afraid  of  Him." 

"  If  you  didn't  feel  afraid  of  Him,  Maizie," 
Suzanna  asked,  turning  back  to  the  cold  stove  and 
vigorously  polishing  away,  "  do  you  think  you'd 
be  a  better  girl?  " 

Maizie  flushed  resentfully.  "  I'm  good  enough 
now,"  she  answered. 

"  But  you  get  mad  for  nothing,  Maizie,"  said 
Suzanna;  "you  always  get  mad  when  you  don't 
see  things." 

"  Anybody  would  get  mad,"  Maizie  exclaimed. 
"  Why  just  yesterday  when  we  were  playing  in 
the  yard  you  said,  '  Behold,  the  lion  marcheth 
down  the  yard.  Maizie,  quick,  quick,  out  of  the 
way,'  and  when  I  said,  '  I  don't  see  any  lion, 
Suzanna,'  you  said,  '  Well,  he's  there,  right  be- 
side you.  Don't  you  hear  him  roaring?  '  and 
there  wasn't  any  lion  there  at  all." 

"  Well,  Maizie,  you  can't  see  anything  unless 
it's  there,"  deplored  Suzanna. 

"  You  mean,  Suzanna,"  put  in  Mrs.  Procter  as 


A  LEAF  MISSING  FROM   THE  BIBLE         123 

she  covered  the  dough  with  a  snowy  cloth,  "  that 
you  have  more  imagination  than  Maizie." 

"  Well,  anyway,  Maizie,"  said  Suzanna  after  a 
time,  "  I'm  going  to  try  and  make  you  a  better 
girl." 

"  Make  her  stop  saying  that,  mother,"  said 
Maizie,  "  I'm  good  enough  as  it  is." 

Suzanna  said  nothing  more  then.  She  finished 
her  stove,  and  then,  when  Maizie  had  peeled*  all 
the  potatoes,  Suzanna  went  into  the  parlor  and 
dusted  all  the  furniture  very  carefully.  Maizie 
followed  and  stood  watching  her  sister. 

"  How  could  you  make  me  better,  Suzanna?  " 
she  asked,  after  a  time,  curiosity  elbowing  pride 
aside. 

"  I  meant  to  tell  you  a  story,"  said  Suzanna; 
"  about  something  you've  never  heard  before." 
She  went  on  dusting. 

"  Would  the  story  make  me  a  better  girl?  " 

"  Yes,  and  happier,  too." 

"  Is  it  a  nice  story,  Suzanna?  " 

"  Awfully  sweet." 
'  When  could  you  tell  me,  Suzanna?  " 

;<  We'll  go  out  into  the  yard  after  I've  finished 
dusting  and  then  I'll  tell  you  the  story,  Maizie." 

"  All  right." 

So  when  the  dusting  was  accomplished,  the  chil- 


124  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

dren  sought  the  back  yard.  Suzanna  procured  a 
soap  box,  placed  it  beneath  the  one  tree,  while 
Maizie  drew  another  very  close  to  her  sister  that 
she  might  lose  no  word,  and  settled  with  keen 
anticipation  to  listen  to  Suzanna's  story. 

The  day  was  hot,  with  scarcely  a  breeze  stir- 
ring. Still,  with  the  quiet  there  was  a  freshness 
in  the  air  that  made  the  children  draw  in  deep 
breaths. 

Suzanna  began  very  softly:  "  Maizie,  do  you 
see  that  big  rose  nodding  near  the  fence  over 
there  at  Mrs.  Reynolds'  ?  " 

Yes,  Maizie  saw  the  rose. 

"  Well,  yesterday  when  you  were  wheeling  the 
baby  and  I  was  sitting  on  this  very  box  putting 
buttons  on  Peter's  waist,  that  rose  all  at  once 
walked  across  the  road  to  me!  It  stood  by  my 
side  for  a  long  time,  and  then  it  said  softly, 
'  Suzanna,'  and  it  looked  at  me  and  it  was  all 
pink  and  very  sweet,  and  it  said  to  me,  '  Suzanna, 
how  old  are  you?  '  and  I  said,  '  I'm  nearly  eight, 
Lady  Rose,  and  Maizie  is  nearly  seven.  Mother 
had  hardly  got  over  my  coming  to  her  when  Mai- 
zie came  along.' 

"And  the  rose  said,  'Maizie?  Is  that  the 
little  girl  that  is  going  to  ask  tomorrow  whether 
Jesus  ever  smiled?'  And  I  said,  'Yes,  Maizie 


A  LEAF  MISSING  FROM   THE  BIBLE         125 

will  be  peeling  a  big  potato,  and  I'll  be  polishing 
the  stove,  and  mother  will  be  kneading  bread 
when  Maizie  will  ask  that  question.' 

"  '  Well,'  said  the  rose,  '  you  must  tell  her  that 
once  upon  a  time  Jesus  did  smile,  but  they  didn't 
put  it  in  the  Bible  because  it  didn't  seem  'portant 
to  grown  folks,  and  they  didn't  think  that  all  the 
little  children  in  the  world  would  sometimes  wish 
He  had  smiled.'  And  then  the  rose  went  on  to 
tell  me  the  story  of  the  dear  smile." 

Maizie  gazed  wide-eyed  at  her  sister.  "  Did 
you  really  see  the  rose  with  your  eyes,  Suzanna?  " 

"Yes,"  Suzanna  answered;  "truly  with  my 
eyes."  She  suddenly  sat  up  very  straight  and 
pointed  a  small  finger,  "  and  there  it's  coming 
again.  It's  nodding  its  head  at  me.  Look, 
Maizie!  " 

Maizie  jumped. 

"  There,  see,  Maizie,  it's  walking  right  through 
Mrs.  Reyonlds'  gate.  Isn't  it  graceful?  " 

"  How  can  it  walk  on  one  stem?  "  asked  Mai- 
zie, the  literalist. 

IC  Well,  it  does,  doesn't  it?  You  can  see  it. 
Now,  it's  coming  into  our  yard."  Suzanna 
waited,  then:  "  Good  morning,  Lady  Rose,"  she 
greeted  in  a  high  treble  voice.  "  Come  and  stand 
near  Maizie."  Maizie  moved  quickly  to  make 


126  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

room.  "You  see  it  now,  don't  you,  Maizie?" 
Maizie  hesitated.  She  stared  hard  at  the  spot 
near  her,  then  up  with  wistful  eyes  into  Suzanna's 
face. 

"  I  can't  see  it,  Suzanna,"  she  said  at  length. 
"  Do  you  think  mother'd  better  take  me  to  the 
doctor  and  have  my  eyes  examined  like  Mrs.  Rey- 
nolds had  hers?  " 

Suzanna  felt  flowing  over  her  a  sudden  wave  of 
pity.  "  No,  Maizie,  dear,"  she  said,  putting  her 
arms  about  Maizie  and  drawing  her  close. 
"  Maybe  I  see  the  rose  with  something  inside  of 
me.  But  never  mind,  lamb  girl  —  isn't  that 
pretty,  Mrs.  Reynolds  calls  me  that  —  the  rose 
has  gone  home  again.  Listen  close  and  I'll  tell 
you  the  story  that  was  left  out  of  the  Bible,  just 
as  the  rose  told  it  to  me." 

Maizie  settled  herself  again,  expectantly. 

'  This  will  be  told,  Maizie,  in  the  way  the 
Bible  is  written.  Funny  words  that  we  don't  know 
the  meaning  of,  but  can  guess;  terrible  threats." 

"  Oh,  don't,"  cried  Maizie,  "  don't,  I  don't 
want  '  terrible  threats.'  It  sounds  awful." 

"  Well,  then,"  conceded  Suzanna,  "  I'll  leave 
out  the  terrible  threats,  Maizie.  Now  I'm  begin- 
ning: 

"  There  came  to  the  city  of  Jerusalem  one  day 


A  LEAF  MISSING  FROM   THE  BIBLE         127 

a  Little  Boy  with  a  halo  on  His  head.  It  was  on 
a  Monday  that  he  came.  The  mothers  were  all 
washing  and  those  that  were  not  washing,  behold, 
they  were  hanging  clothes  out  in  the  yard,  and  as 
He  walked  He  carried  a  message,  and  His  mes- 
sage was  this:  '  Beware  of  green  tea,  handsome 
to  the  eye,  but  destructive  to  the  human  system.'  ' 

Maizie's  memory  was  pricked  wide  awake. 
"  Why,  that's  written  on  mother's  tea  canister, 
and  you  read  it  aloud  a  thousand  times  one  day," 
she  cried. 

'  That  saying  has  come  down  the  ages,"  re- 
sponded Suzanna  quickly.  "  And  any  more  break- 
ing-in  and  I'll  not  tell  the  story." 

Maizie  subsided,  and  Suzanna  continued. 

"  Now  when  all  the  mothers  heard  this  won- 
derful saying,  there  came  sorrow  and  fear  into 
their  hearts.  '  Yea,'  said  one,  '  have  I  not  used 
green  tea  ?  '  And  the  Little  Boy  with  the  halo 
said,  '  Thou  art  never  to  do  so  again,'  and  all 
the  mothers  bowed  their  heads. 

"  And  the  Little  Boy  grew  and  grew  till  He 
came  to  be  a  man.  A  man  that  looked  very  much 
like  our  father.  He  played  the  harp,  the  one  he 
afterwards  took  to  Heaven  with  Him.  And  He 
wore  a  long,  white,  flowing  gown,  that  His  mother 
washed  out  every  morning  and  ironed  carefully 


128  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

after  it  was  dry.  '  Behold,'  she  said,  '  Yea,  nay, 
no  other  hands  but  mine  must  touch  this  gown.' 
There  were  no  laundries  in  those  days. 

"  The  Man  with  the  halo  walked  by  the  sea 
at  day,  and  walked  under  the  stars  at  night.  Then 
He  came  on  back  to  His  mother.  She  said  to 
Him :  '  Is  it  that  Thou  art  tired  that  Thou  dost 
not  smile?'  And  He  said,  drawing  Himself  up 
to  a  big  height,  '  There  is  nothing  to  smile  at.' 
And  His  mother  said,  '  Behold  I  have  made  for 
Thee  something  nice  to  eat,  with  an  orange  in 
front  of  Thy  plate !  '  But  even  then  He  did  not 
smile.  And  next  day,  He  went  off  into  the  fields 
and  took  care  of  His  lambs.  And  the  day  after 
that,  yea,  He  went  into  His  father's  shop  and  He 
said  to  His  father,  '  I  must  away,'  and  then  the 
earth  trembled  and  rocked  beneath  their  feet. 

"  Then  the  Man  with  the  halo  left,  and  for  a 
long  time  His  mother  didn't  see  Him  any  more. 
And  out  in  the  world,  in  Galilee,  I  think  it  was, 
He  didn't  even  there  find  a  chance  to  smile. 
Everything  was  too  sad  and  people  too  bad,  and 
then  one  day,  behold,  the  Man  with  the  halo  was 
busy  making  ten  fish  out  of  one  little  tiny  minney 
for  Peter  who  was  hungry,  and  had  a  'normous 
appetite  like  our  Peter's,  when  a  woman  came 
running  down  the  road.  Everybody  looked  at 


A  LEAF  MISSING  FROM  THE  BIBLE         129 

her,  but  she  went  on.  And  when  she  came  near 
the  Man  with  the  halo,  she  fell  on  her  knees  and 
He  stopped  his  work.  He  had  just  half  a  fish 
in  His  hand  when  this  woman  spoke.  She  said: 
'  Pardon  me,  Master,  but  I  have  heard  of  lots  of 
wonderful  things  Thou  hast  done,  and  now  I 
must  ask  a  favor  of  Thee.' 

"  The  Man  with  the  halo  put  down  the  fish 
that  wasn't  finished  and  turned  His  big  eyes  upon 
her,  and  He  said,  '  Speak,  woman.'  And  she 
said:  '  Wilt  Thou  come  with  me?  '  He  waited 
a  little,  but  felt  pity  in  His  heart  for  her  and  so 
He  went  with  her,  His  halo  shining  like  the  sun 
and  making  a  wide  light  path  for  everyone  to 
walk  in,  and  lots  of  people  walked  behind  Him, 
but  no  one  in  front. 

"  And  they  came  to  a  little  house,  like  ours 
set  back  from  the  road,  where  lots  of  children 
lived.  And  there  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  lying 
in  a  white  box,  fast  asleep  was  the  littlest  baby 
that  had  ever  gone  to  Heaven.  And  though  the 
woman  had  lots  of  other  babies,  and  maybe  lots 
more  would  come  to  her  like  they  come  to  us  all 
the  time,  she  wanted  that  one  tiny  little  baby  to 
open  its  eyes  and  look  at  her. 

"  And  so  she  fell  on  her  knees,  and  she  said 
to  the  Man  with  the  halo :  *  Will  you  wake  that 


130  SVZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

lovely  baby  of  mine  for  me?  Oh,  please,  Mas- 
ter, waken  it  —  even  though  it  should  cry  all 
night.  Perhaps  it's  happy  in  Heaven,  but  I  am 
lonely.  Dost  Thou  think  I  can  have  it  back?' 

"  And  just  then  Peter  came  into  the  room.  He 
had  followed  the  Man  with  the  halo.  '  But  it's 
only  a  little  thing,'  Peter  said.  '  And  it  made  so 
much  noise  when  it  was  awake.  Its  big  sister 
had  to  warm  milk  for  it,  and  take  it  out  in  the 
buggy  and  to  wash  its  clothes,  sometimes  when 
its  mother  was  busy  or  had  been  up  the  night  be- 
fore. Is  it  not  better  for  all  that  it  is  in  Heaven?  ' 

"  And  then  she  said,  '  I'm  not  speaking  to  you, 
Peter,'  and  she  looked  again  at  the  Man  with  the 
halo.  And  at  last  He  spoke  and  His  voice  was 
like  music,  thrilly  and  gentle.  And  He  said,  '  All 
mothers  want  their  babies  and  we've  got  plenty 
in  Heaven,  and  I'll  give  this  one  back  to  you.' 

"And  He  went  to  the  white  box  and  He 
looked  at  the  baby,  and  pretty  soon  the  baby  got 
pink  like  my  coral  beads,  and  then  its  eyes  opened 
and  it  looked  up  into  His  face  and  it  raised  its 
arms  up  to  Him. 

"  Then  He  smiled!  —  and  He  lifted  the  baby 
up  and  held  it  close,  so  He  warmed  it  all  through. 
And  then  He  put  it  into  its  mother's  arms  and 
said,  '  Well,  I  must  be  going.' 


A  LEAF  MISSING  FROM    THE  BIBLE         131 

"  And  this  is  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you,  Mai- 
zie,  that  you  were  that  little  baby,  and  Jesus 
smiled  at  you  to  wake  you  up." 

Maizie  did  not  speak.  Her  eyes  were  shining, 
her  lips  trembling.  Her  small  soul  was  touched 
to  its  depths.  After  a  long  time  in  a  whisper 
she  spoke :  "  Oh,  was  I  really  the  baby  that  made 
Jesus  smile?  I'm  happy,  Suzanna,  but  —  it  hurts 
me,  too  —  " 

Suzanna  put  her  arms  about  her  sister.  The 
emotions  she  had  aroused  in  that  little  sister 
warmed  her,  thrilled  her  through  and  through. 
They  sat  on  in  silence.  Soon  a  question  began 
to  puzzle  Maizie.  She  gave  it  voice.  "  I  didn't 
know  I'd  been  a  baby  more  than  once,  Suzanna." 

"  You're  a  baby  every  hundred  years,"  said  Su- 
zanna promptly. 

"  Oh,  I  see."  Then:  "  I  do  love  Him  now, 
Suzanna.  I'll  always  love  Him  'cause  once  He 
woke  me  up.  Suzanna,  do  you  think  the  rose  will 
come  to  you  and  tell  you  another  story?  " 

Suzanna  believed  the  rose  might. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  PICNIC  IN  THE  WOODS 

FOR  days  Maizie  lived  in  the  sanctity  of  the 
thought  that  the  Master  of  all  had  smiled 
at  her.  But  even  so  marvelous  an  occurrence, 
so  sweet  a  marking  out  of  her  above  all  the  chil- 
dren in  the  world,  failed  completely  on  one 
occasion  to  help  her  overcome  a  mood  of  sul- 
lenness. 

She  awoke  late  one  morning,  and  found  that 
Suzanna  had  arisen  and  gone  down  stairs.  She 
heard  sounds  indicating  breakfast,  but  there  was 
a  little  dull  feeling  at  her  heart.  Her  customary 
joyous  anticipation  of  living  a  whole  day,  ripe 
with  possibilities,  was  quite  absent.  She  decided 
to  remain  in  bed,  but  at  her  mother's  voice  call- 
ing her  name  she  was  prompted  to  put  out  one 
small  foot,  then  the  other,  and  soon,  as  another 
call  came  up  peremptorily,  she  went  lazily  ahead 
dressing  herself. 

Ready  then  for  the  day,  she  went  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  out.  The  sky  was  hazy,  with 
little  dull  clouds  floating  on  its  breast.  From  far 

132 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  133 

away  came  grumbles  of  thunder.  Over  to  the 
east  the  sky  seemed  to  open  in  a  long  thin  path 
of  vivid  light  and  then  close  again,  leaving  the 
heavens  gray,  bleak.  Maizie  wanted  to  cry;  it 
was  with  an  effort  she  controlled  her  tears. 

At  last,  languidly  she  moved  from  the  window, 
went  down  the  stairs,  through  the  tiny  hall  and 
into  the  dining-room,  her  little  face  downcast  still, 
with  no  smile  lightening  it  to  greet  the  other  chil- 
dren. Suzanna  and  Peter  sat  at  the  table  awaiting 
the  laggard. 

"  Father  had  to  leave  early  this  morning,  Mai- 
zie," said  Suzanna  at  once.  "  He  ate  his  break- 
fast all  alone." 

Maizie  did  not  answer;  silently  she  sank  into 
her  chair  as  her  mother  appeared  with  the  baby 
and  took  her  usual  place,  after  placing  him  in  his 
high  chair.  Maizie  gazed  for  a  moment  at  the 
oatmeal  in  her  own  blue  plate,  then  with  a  little 
petulant  gesture,  she  pushed  the  plate  away. 

"  I  don't  like  oatmeal  with  a  pool  of  syrup  in 
the  middle,"  she  said  slowly,  not  addressing  any- 
one directly,  but  keeping  her  eyes  on  her  plate. 

"  You've  always  liked  it  before  this  morning," 
her  mother  answered.  "  I  think  you're  just  cross, 
Maizie." 

"  I  don't  like  syrup  in  the  middle  of  my  oat- 


134  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

meal,"  repeated  MaLzie;  "  I  want  milk  on  it  like 
father  has." 

"  Oh,  Maizie,"  said  Suzanna,  "  father  must 
have  milk  on  his  oatmeal." 

"Why?"  asked  Maizie. 

"  Because  he  is  our  father  and  he  must  have 
the  nice  things." 

"  Well,  we're  his  children,"  pursued  Maizie, 
apparently  unconvinced.  "  And  I  don't  see  why 
we  shouldn't  have  some  nice  things  to  eat,  too." 

"  But  there's  so  many  of  us,"  said  Suzanna. 

"  Why  did  father  leave  orders  for  so  many  of 
us  then?"  said  Maizie  looking  up.  Belligerence 
was  now  in  her  tone,  in  her  very  attitude. 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  firmly.  "  We  must 
not  talk  this  way.  Father  doesn't  like  syrup.  It 
doesn't  agree  with  him.  You're  a  very  naughty 
little  girl  this  morning,  Maizie." 

Maizie  was  again  on  the  point  of  tears.  Lest 
they  overflow  she  rose  quickly  from  the  table  and 
left  the  room. 

"  Maizie's  in  a  bad  humor  today,"  said  Mrs. 
Procter  to  Suzanna. 

"  Maybe  she  feels  bad  today,  mother,  because 
it's  Wednesday." 

"  Well,  what  in  the  world  has  the  day  to  do 
with  it  1  "  Mrs.  Procter  exclaimed. 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  135 

"  Well,  Wednesday  you  know  is  the  shape  of 
a  big  black  bear.  It's  not  like  Thursday,  that's 
the  shape  of  a  great  snowy  white  ship  on  a 
sparkling  sea.  I  don't  like  Wednesday  myself, 
mother." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry,"  returned  Mrs.  Procter. 
"  But  it's  not  in  my  power  to  shape  days  to  please 
you  children,"  she  spoke  crisply. 

"  Are  you  tired,  mother? "  asked  Suzanna, 
after  a  pause. 

"  I  think  I'm  always  tired  these  days,"  Mrs. 
Procter  admitted,  "  but  I'm  particularly  tired  this 
morning.  The  baby  was  very  restless  last  night." 

"  If  you  were  like  Mrs.  Martin  on  the  other 
side  of  the  town,"  said  Suzanna  as  she  rose  from 
the  table  and  began  to  gather  up  the  dishes,  while 
Peter  escaped  into  the  yard,  "  who  has  only  one 
little  girl,  you  wouldn't  be  kept  awake."  Suzan- 
na's  eyes  were  widely  questioning.  Did  her 
mother  regret  owning  so  many  children? 

Mrs.  Procter  stood  up.  She  lifted  the  baby 
out  of  his  high  chair.  "  You're  every  one  dear 
and  wonderful  to  me,"  she  said.  "  But  we're  all 
human,  dear,  and  apt  to  grow  tired." 

Suzanna  walked  into  the  kitchen  and  put  the 
dishes  down  on  the  table.  On  her  way  back  to 
the  dining-room  she  glanced  out  of  the  window. 


136  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

The  early  September  day  had  changed.  Miracu- 
lously every  dull  gray  cloud  had  scurried  away, 
leaving  a  sky  soft,  yet  brilliant.  Birds  flew  about, 
carolling  madly,  as  though  some  elixir  in  the  air 
sent  their  spirits  bounding.  Suzanna's  every  fiber 
responded.  The  desire  whipped  her  to  plunge 
into  the  beauty  of  outdoors,  to  run  madly  about, 
to  shout,  to  sing.  But  alas,  she  knew  there  was 
no  chance  to  obey  her  ardent  impulse,  since 
Wednesday  was  cleaning  day,  a  day  rigid,  inflex- 
ible, when  all  the  Procter  family  were  pressed 
into  service;  that  is,  all  but  Peter,  belonging  to 
a  sex  blessedly  free  from  work  during  its  young, 
upgrowing  years. 

Mrs.  Procter  spoke :  "  Bring  the  high  chair  into 
the  kitchen,  Suzanna,  near  the  window  for  the 
baby;  then  we'll  start  cleaning." 

Suzanna  obeyed  reluctantly.  She  turned  from 
the  window.  "  Mother,"  she  said,  "  when  I'm 
grown  up  I'll  have  no  steady  days  for  anything." 

'  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Mrs.  Procter. 

;'  Well,  I  won't  wash  on  Monday,  and  iron  on 
Tuesday,  and  clean  on  Wednesday,  and  bake  on 
Thursday.  I'll  let  every  day  be  a  surprise." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  "  and  a  nice  mix- 
up  there'd  be.  You  must  have  set  times  for 
every  task  if  you  expect  to  accomplish  anything." 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  137 

"  But  isn't  it  'complishing  anything  if  you're 
happy?  "  asked  Suzanna,  really  puzzled. 

Mrs.  Procter  hesitated.  "  But  you  can  be 
happy  working,  too." 

"  But  I  know,  mother,  that  I'd  be  happier  to- 
day out  in  the  sun." 

"  But  the  truth  remains,  Suzanna,  that  if  we 
don't  wash  on  Monday  we'd  have  to  wash  on 
Tuesday,  and  that  ties  up  everything  at  the  end 
of  the  week,"  said  her  mother. 

Suzanna  sighed.  She  couldn't  by  mere  words 
combat  her  mother's  arguments.  They  seemed 
indeed  unassailable  if  you  applied  plain  reason 
to  them.  But  something  deeper,  finer  than  rea- 
son, made  Suzanna  believe  that  to  be  out  in  the 
sun,  to  be  under  the  trees,  to  be  dreaming  in  the 
perfume  of  flowers,  was  more  important  than 
cleaning  and  dusting;  anyway  in  a  glorious, 
straight-from-Heaven  day  like  this  Wednesday. 
So  she  returned  unconvinced  to  the  dishes,  while 
her  mother  after  tying  the  baby  in  his  high  chair 
cast  an  appraising  eye  around,  wondering  just 
where  she  should  begin  her  upheaval. 

Suddenly  a  loud,  heart-rending  outcry  was 
heard,  and  Peter,  who  a  moment  before  had  been 
playing  peacefully  in  the  yard,  came  rushing  into 
the  house.  Out  of  the  medley  of  his  piteous  cries, 


138  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Suzanna  at  last  made  sense.  Not  so  her  mother 
who  asked  anxiously: 

"  What  in  the  world  is  he  crying  so  for, 
Suzanna?  Is  he  hurt?  Will  he  let  you  look  him 
over?" 

"  No,  he's  not  hurt,"  returned  Suzanna.  "  He 
is  crying  because  never  in  all  his  life  will  he  be 
able  to  see  his  ears." 

Mrs.  Procter  stared  dumbfounded.  But  she 
soon  recovered.  She  was  accustomed  to  originali- 
ties of  this  sort  in  her  family. 

"  So!  Well,  what  am  I  to  do  about  it?  "  she 
asked  the  small  boy. 

Peter  looked  at  her  stolidly.  "  I  want  to  see 
my  ears,"  he  repeated.  "  And  I  can't  only  in  the 
mirror." 

"  Have  you  lived  for  five  years,"  asked  Mrs. 
Procter,  "  without  discovering  that  your  ears  are 
attached  to  your  head,  and  that  I  can't  take  them 
off  in  order  that  you  may  see  them?  " 

"  And  you  can't  see  the  back  of  your  neck 
either,  Peter,"  cried  Suzanna  at  this  juncture.  At 
which  disastrous  piece  of  information  Peter  cried 
louder. 

"  Now,  Suzanna,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Procter  in 
some  exasperation.  "  What  did  you  tell  him  that 
for?  Isn't  it  enough  for  him  to  learn  in  one 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  139 

day  that  he'll  never  see  his  ears  without  telling 
him  about  the  back  of  his  neck?  Stop  your  cry- 
ing, Peter.  It's  bad  enough  to  have  you  cry  for 
things  that  can  be  mended." 

Maizie,  attracted  by  the  noise,  unable  to  con- 
trol her  curiosity,  appeared  at  the  door.  Her 
face  was  still  sullen,  but  it  also  bore  a  rare  ex- 
pression of  stubbornness.  Satisfying  her  curiosity 
as  to  the  reason  for  the  commotion,  she  then  made 
her  announcement. 

"  Mother,"  she  began,  "  I'm  not  going  to  wash 
the  window  sills  upstairs  this  cleaning  morning." 

"  Now,  Maizie,"  said  Suzanna,  conciliatingly, 
"  don't  you  remember  Who  smiled  at  you  once?  " 

"  M-hm,  I  remember,"  said  Maizie,  without 
change  of  expression,  "  but  I'm  not  going  to  wash 
the  window  sills." 

A  little  silence  ensued.  Then  Suzanna  offered 
a  suggestion. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  none  of  us  feels  right, 
do  we?  Can't  we  have  a  picnic?" 

"A  picnic?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Procter.  "A 
picnic !  "  She  was  about  vigorously  to  refuse  the 
request  when  she  paused.  She  looked  at  the 
three  earnest  little  faces  before  her.  Suzanna 
resenting  steady  days  for  doing  steady  tasks; 
Maizie  hating  her  porridge,  and  Peter  grieved 


140  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

because  he  couldn't  see  his  ears;  the  baby  too,  not 
his  usual  sunny  self.  But  set  against  the  strange 
and  varied  emotions  of  her  young  family,  loomed 
the  house  with  its  stern  demands  upon  her. 
Should  she  postpone  her  tasks  then  vengeance  in 
the  double  form  of  cleaning  and  baking  day  would 
descend  upon  her  tomorrow! 

Then  suddenly  the  truth  pressed  in  on  her  — 
the  children  had  rights  upon  her  time,  her 
thoughts,  her  understandings,  her  sweetnesses ! 
What  if  for  this  week  the  window  sills  upstairs 
did  remain  unwashed,  the  rugs  downstairs  stay 
unshaken?  She  stole  a  glance  out  of  the  window 
at  the  one  tree  in  the  yard,  green  and  gently  sway- 
ing in  the  soft  breeze,  and  she  spoke  with  the 
impulse  of  youth.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  where 
could  we  go?  " 

"  We  could  have  it  in  the  yard  if  you  say  so, 
mother,"  cried  Suzanna,  mentally  forecasting  con- 
sent in  her  mother's  question.  "  But  I  know  some 
lovely  woods  not  very  far  away.  We  could  push 
the  baby  in  his  cart." 

The  baby  from  his  high  chair  gurgled  joyously. 

"  And  take  lunch,"  said  Maizie,  brightening. 

"  And  my  baseball,"  completed  Peter. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  the  brief  spark 
that  had  lifted  her  dying,  "  if  I'm  going  to  have 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  141 

grumbling  all  the  time,  something  the  matter  with 
each  one  of  you,  I  might  as  well  let  the  work  go 
for  once,  I  suppose." 

But  though  the  consent  fell  leaden  in  its  deliv- 
ery, it  was  consent  and  in  a  miraculously  short 
time  they  were  all  ready  to  start  away;  even  the 
lunch  basket  was  packed  and  the  baby  put  into  his 
carriage  and  wheeled  out  to  the  front  gate  to  wait 
till  the  entire  family  was  assembled. 

Mrs.  Procter  locked  the  doors,  ran  across  the 
street  to  ask  Mrs.  Reynolds  to  buy  certain  vege- 
tables from  a  daily  huckster  and  then  away  they 
all  went  down  the  wide  white  road  to  the  woods. 

Soon  the  joy  and  beauty  of  the  day  stole  into 
Mrs.  Procter's  heart.  She  breathed  in  the  invig- 
orating air  deeply.  Cares  seemed  to  fall  from 
her.  Materialities  were  banished  into  the  back- 
ground. She  looked  at  her  children  as  they  went 
singing  down  the  road.  She  had  meant  to  bind 
them  to  sordid  tasks  within  four  walls  when  a 
jewel  of  a  day  beckoned  to  all!  She  visualized 
her  house  clean  and  in  perfect  order,  but  the  chil- 
dren cross,  she  herself  irritable  and  tired  out,  and 
wondering  a  little  bit  about  the  meaning  of  things. 
Was  it  worth  while  to  let  inflexible  rules  remain 
victors  at  such  a  cost.  She  knew  a  sudden  thrill  of 
gratitude  for  Suzanna,  who  had  suggested  the 


142  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

outing,  and  putting  out  her  hand  she  drew  the 
little  girl  to  her. 

Suzanna  looked  up.  She  caught  the  deep  and 
tender  look  in  her  mother's  face,  so  she  voiced  a 
plea  which  had  been  in  her  heart,  but  kept  from 
utterance  in  fear  that  she  might  ask  too  much. 

"  Mother,  if  we're  going  on  a  real  picnic  we 
ought  to  take  the  lame  and  the  halt  with  us.  And 
I  know  a  little  girl  who  has  cross  eyes,  and  she's 
a  weeny  bit  pigeon-toed.  She's  the  lame  and  the 
halt,  isn't  she?  Because  when  she  looks  at  me  I 
never  think  she  is  looking  at  me.  I  tried  to  teach 
her  one  day  how  to  look  straight  but  it  wouldn't 
do.  Could  I  invite  her,  do  you  think?  " 

"  Where  does  she  live?  " 

"  Oh,  just  the  other  side  of  the  fork  road," 
Suzanna  replied,  pointing  out  the  direction.  "  If 
you'll  go  on  I'll  run  and  get  Mabel  and  then  catch 
up  with  you.  She's  that  new  little  girl.  Her 
folks  haven't  lived  here  long." 

"  Very  well." 

In  a  short  time  Suzanna  returned,  holding  tight 
to  little  Mabel's  hand.  "  I  told  her  mother  we 
had  enough  to  eat  with  us  and  that  we'd  take  good 
care  of  her.  So  here  she  is,"  said  Suzanna. 

Little  Mabel  looked  up  obliquely  at  Mrs. 
Procter. 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  WOODS  143 

"  Her  hair  doesn't  grow  thick  around  her  face," 
said  Suzanna  a  little  apologetically;  "  and  I  told 
her  mother  to  rub  Gray's  ointment  into  it,  like  you 
did  for  the  dog  that  came  off  in  spots.  The  one 
Peter  found,  you  remember." 

"  It  didn't  do  any  good  —  "  began  Maizie. 

Mrs.  Procter  plunged  in  to  prevent  further  dis- 
cussion about  the  unfortunate  dog.  "  Do  you 
think  you  can  walk  quite  a  distance,  Mabel?  "  she 
asked. 

Mabel  put  her  finger  in  her  mouth. 

"  Don't  talk  to  her  right  away,  mother,"  begged 
Suzanna.  "  She's  a  little  bit  shy." 

So  they  went  on,  little  Mabel  contributing  no 
word  to  the  talk.  They  passed  fields  full  of  yel- 
low daisies  and  they  walked  by  one  group  of 
gentle,  cud-chewing  cows.  "  But  I  hope  there'll 
be  no  cows  in  your  woods,  Suzanna,"  said  Mrs. 
Procter. 

And  her  wish  was  granted.  Indeed  all,  sky, 
flowers,  breeze,  absence  of  dust  and  curious  ani- 
mals, helped  to  make  this  a  day  of  days.  When 
they  reached  Suzanna's  little  patch  of  woods  with 
many  spreading  oak  trees  that  invited  rest  beneath 
their  sheltering  branches  Mrs.  Procter  exclaimed 
in  delight. 

11  Isn't    it   lovely,    mother? "    cried    Suzanna. 


144  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  See,  there's  a  tiny  brook,  too.  I've  been  here 
often  when  I  wanted  to  think  of  poetry." 

"  And  I've  never  had  time,"  her  mother  mur- 
mured. 

"  Now  you  just  sit  right  down  here  with  your 
back  against  this  tree,"  Suzanna  went  on  with  a 
delicious  air  of  protection,  "  and  I'll  take  care  of 
the  baby.  Close  your  eyes,  dear  mother-love,  and 
forget  that  God  sent  you  a  big  family  and  that 
you've  got  to  do  your  best  by  us  all  like  you  told 
Mrs.  Reynolds  last  week." 

Mrs.  Procter's  eyes  were  suddenly  overflowing. 
Children!  How  rare  and  fine  a  gift  they  were. 
How  many  truths  they  could  teach!  She  sank 
down  upon  the  grass  and  Suzanna  put  the  baby 
down  beside  her,  first  spreading  out  a  thick  shawl. 

Mrs.  Procter  caught  the  small  loving  hand 
within  her  own:  "  I  don't  know,  Suzanna;  some- 
times I  wonder  if  I'll  be  able  to  do  all  I'd  like  to 
do  for  you  all,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Why,  mother,  you  love  us!"  Suzanna  ex- 
claimed. "  Don't  you  remember  last  Sunday  when 
I  put  on  my  leghorn  hat  with  the  bunch  of  daisies 
over  my  left  eye  —  " 

"  I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  somewhat 
at  a  loss  as  to  the  connection  between  thought  and 
thought. 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  145 

"  Well,  when  I  said,  '  good-bye,  mother,  I'm 
going  to  Sunday  School,'  you  looked  at  me  and 
smiled  from  your  soul !  And  I  forgot  that  there 
was  Maizie  and  Peter  and  the  baby,  and  I  didn't 
even  remember  father,  and  I  said  to  myself: 
'  That's  my  very  own  mother! '  Just  as  though 
we  just  belonged  to  one  another  with  nobody  else 
in  the  whole  world." 

"  Kiss  me,  Suzanna  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter, after  a  long  moment. 

Suzanna  stooped  and  kissed  her  mother  very 
tenderly. 

"  Now  run  away  and  play,"  said  Mrs.  Procter, 
leaning  against  the  supporting  tree  and  closing  her 
eyes,  blissfully  conscious  that  she  could  rest  undis- 
turbed for  at  least  twenty  minutes. 

An  hour  later  she  opened  her  eyes  and  sat  up 
straight.  She  had  fallen  asleep,  though  her  posi- 
tion was  not  a  particularly  comfortable  one,  and 
slept  sweetly,  soundly.  The  baby  still  lay  peace- 
fully quiet,  his  little  blanket  covering  him.  And 
small  bees  had  been  working  about  her.  Spread 
before  her,  reposing  on  a  red  table  cloth  lay  a 
tempting  meal.  In  the  middle  of  the  table  cloth, 
to  give  an  air  of  festivity,  was  a  bunch  of  daisies. 
But  most  appealing  of  all  to  the  mother  was  the 
sight  of  the  four  children,  her  own  three  and  little 


146  A  PICNIC  IN  THE  WOODS 

Mabel,  seated  quietly  near  the  table;  they  had 
evidently  been  there  some  time,  waiting  patiently 
till  she  should  open  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Maizie,  great  relief  filling  her  at 
sight  of  her  mother  stirring,  "  Suzanna  made  us 
stay  so  quiet  till  you  woke  up,  mother,  and  we're 
all  awful  hungry." 

'  Yes,  I  want  that  fat  sandwich,"  said  Peter. 

And  then  they  fell  to  eating  with  much  laughter 
and  gaiety. 

"  Out  in  the  woods  you  don't  have  to  pretend 
you  hate  to  eat,  do  you,  mother?  "  said  Suzanna. 

"  Nor  anywhere  else  that  I  know  of,"  said  Mrs. 
Procter,  smiling. 

"  But  I  don't  like  to  see  anyone  eat  as  though 
he  liked  to  eat,"  said  Suzanna.  "  May  I  have  two 
or  three  grapes,  mother?  " 

She  received  her  grapes.  And  quiet  fell,  while 
each  did  his  best  to  clear  the  table.  At  length 
when  the  meal  was  concluded,  and  the  basket 
repacked,  and  the  pewter  knives  and  forks  care- 
fully wrapped  in  a  napkin,  the  children  begged 
Suzanna  for  stories. 

So  she  began,  and  seemed  never  to  fall  short 
of  material.  Her  mother  listened,  dreamily  con- 
tented, till  another  hour  passed  and  the  baby 
awoke.  He  was  a  smiling,  happy  baby  and 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  147 

crowed  with  delight  when  his  mother  allowed  him 
a  cracker  and  a  cup  of  milk. 

"  Shall  we  play  games?  "  asked  Suzanna  next, 
when  just  at  the  moment  the  sound  of  wheels  was 
heard  and  shortly  there  came  into  sight  a  low 
carriage  drawn  by  the  two  prosperous,  fat  brown 
horses,  and  seated  in  the  carriage  was  Suzanna's 
Eagle  Man. 

Suzanna  darted  out  into  the  road.  As  the  car- 
riage did  not  stop  she  called  out:  "  Mr.  Eagle 
Man !  Oh,  Mr.  Eagle  Man !  " 

The  coachman  involuntarily  pulled  in  his 
horses.  He  didn't  know  what  peremptory  signal 
would  be  given  him  to  move  on,  or  what  inquiry 
as  to  his  sanity  would  scorchingly  be  made,  but 
Suzanna's  eager  voice  impelled  him  to  stop.  Mr. 
Massey  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  carriage. 

"  I  never  dreamed  you'd  ride  by  our  picnic," 
said  Suzanna,  all  excited.  "  We've  got  my  mother 
here  and  our  baby." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  Eagle  Man.  "And 
how  are  you,  little  girl?  " 

"  I'm  awfully  well,"  returned  Suzanna.  "  But 
today  was  cleaning  day  at  home  and  we  all  started 
out  wrong;  the  baby  kept  mother  awake  last  night 
and  Maizie  hated  her  oatmeal  with  the  syrup  in 
the  middle  and  Peter  cried  hard  because  he 


148  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

couldn't  see  his  ears,  and  never  in  all  his  life  can 
see  his  ears." 

She  paused  tragically.  "  Never  in  all  his  life  — 
and  neither  can  you,  or  anybody." 

"  What  a  terrible  loss,  for  sure,"  said  the  Eagle 
Man,  after  a  look  darted  at  his  coachman's  imper- 
turbable back.  "  And  what  did  you  cry  about?  " 

She  stared  at  him  in  horror.  "  I  never  cry," 
she  said.  "  I  mean  I  never  let  the  tears  fall  down 
my  face.  I  cry  in  my  heart  sometimes,  but  never 
out  loud,  on  top.  But  I  felt  funny  this  morning 
because  I  wished  we  didn't  have  to  wash  on  Mon- 
day, and  iron  on  Tuesday,  and  clean  on  Wednes- 
day, and  bake  on  Thursday,  and  mend  on  Friday, 
and  clean  again  on  Saturday." 

"  Well,  ask  your  mother  to  wash  on  Saturday," 
the  Eagle  Man  suggested  easily. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  mother  would,"  Suzanna 
cried,  in  a  little  horror  herself  at  that  idea.  "  She's 
awful  set  about  washing  on  Monday.  Still  I'll 
ask  her  if  you  say  so,  Eagle  Man,  because  Satur- 
day is  kind  of  a  wet  day  anyhow.  You  see 
Saturday  is  just  the  shape  of  a  big,  immense,  round 
ocean.  Shall  I  bring  my  mother  over  here  to  look 
at  you?  "  suddenly  recalling  the  conventions. 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  fit  to  look  at  this  morning," 
the  Eagle  Man  muttered. 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  WOODS  149 

"  Oh,  I  think  you  are,"  said  Suzanna,  earnestly. 
"  I  like  your  shiny  shoes  and  your  very  high  collar. 
I  know  mother  would  like  you,  too." 

The  Eagle  Man  looked  down  at  his  shiny  shoes, 
hesitated  and  was  lost.  He  opened  the  carriage 
door,  seized  his  cane  and  struggled  to  the  ground. 
"  Now,  let's  see  your  wonderful  family,"  he  said 
to  Suzanna,  as  he  hobbled  forward  toward  the 
little  group  under  the  trees. 

Suzanna  looked  up  at  him.  "  Oh,  you're  the 
lame  and  the  halt,  too!  We  took  Mabel  along 
on  our  picnic  because  her  eyes  don't  match,  you 
know.  They  don't  seem  to  work  together.  We 
are  obeying  the  Bible  today,  aren't  we?  " 

Old  John  Massey  did  not  answer,  since  he  was 
intent  upon  covering  the  ground  with  as  little  wear 
and  tear  on  his  nerves  as  possible,  and  so  in  silence 
they  walked  till  they  reached  Mrs.  Procter,  still 
leaning  against  the  tree,  but  now  holding  the  baby 
in  her  arms. 

Maizie,  Mabel,  and  Peter  all  looked  with  vivid 
interest  at  the  newcomer. 

"  Mother,"  began  Suzanna,  "  this  is  the  gentle- 
man I  told  you  about.  He's  John  Massey;  you've 
seen  him  on  Main  Street.  He  loves  to  be  com- 
fortable. And  he  doesn't  work  during  the  day, 
either,  but  he  sits  in  a  chair  and  shouts  at  a  little 


150  SVZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

man,  and  the  little  man  hops  mighty  quick,  I  can 
tell  you." 

Mrs.  Procter's  face  went  crimson.  "  How  do 
you  do?"  she  said.  She  did  not  meet  his  keen 
eyes. 

"  How  do  you  do,  madam,"  the  Eagle  Man 
responded.  "  Out  for  an  airing  with  your 
family?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Procter.  "The  children 
were  all  in  a  bad  humor  this  morning  and  so  we 
thought  we'd  have  a  picnic." 

"  Oh,  no,  mother,"  said  Maizie  earnestly,  "  we 
weren't  in  a  bad  humor.  We  just  didn't  like 
things  at  home." 

"  Well,  we'll  put  it  that  way,"  smiled  her 
mother,  "  and  so  Suzanna  suggested  a  picnic." 
Mrs.  Procter  attempted  to  rise. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  madam,"  said  the  Eagle 
Man.  Mrs.  Procter  sank  back  against  the  tree. 

"  You  sit  down,  too,  Eagle  Man,"  said  Suzanna 
cordially.  "  We've  got  another  shawl.  Here  it 
is."  She  spread  it  down  on  the  ground  and  the 
Eagle  Man  quite  gladly  accepted  the  invitation, 
though  his  face  whitened  in  the  downward  process 
of  reaching  the  shawl. 

"  Well,  madam,"  he  began  again,  "  most  people 
can't  afford  big  families  these  days." 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  151 

Mrs.  Procter  smiled,  but  did  not  answer. 
Suzanna,  sensing  a  criticism,  spoke  quickly. 

"  Mother  can't  afford  them  either,  but  she's  not 
asked  anything  about  it.  The  doctor  who  has 
charge  of  giving  out  babies  stops  at  our  gate  often 
and  looks  into  mother's  eyes.  Then  he  knows 
she'd  be  awful  sweet  to  a  little  baby  and  so  next 
time  he  gets  around  he  brings  one  to  us.  Maybe 
one  that  no  one  else  will  have." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Eagle  Man.  He  turned  to 
Mrs.  Procter.  "  Your  daughter  is  very  apt  with 
explanations." 

Mrs.  Procter  smiled. 

"  Her  explanations,"  he  continued,  "  are  a  trifle 
more  honest  than  the  ones  I  often  hear." 

Another  little  silence.  The  Eagle  Man  ap- 
peared to  be  thinking  deeply.  First  he  cast  a 
glance  out  into  the  road  to  where  his  capacious 
vehicle  stood,  then  he  looked  over  at  Mrs.  Procter. 

"  I  wonder,  madam,"  he  said,  "  if  you  and  your 
family  would  do  me  the  honor  to  drive  with  me." 

Suzanna's  eyes  grew  like  stars,  Maizie  wrung 
her  hands  in  a  very  eloquence  of  prayer  as  she 
awaited  her  mother's  answer;  Peter  just  stared, 
speech  stricken  from  him;  Mabel  turned  in  her 
toes  in  her  agony.  The  baby  only  was  uncon- 
cerned. Finally  Mrs.  Procter  answered : 


152  SU  Z  ANN  A  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  We'll  be  very  glad  to,  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Massey." 
And  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell,  Mrs.  Procter, 
the  baby  on  her  knees,  sat  beside  Mr.  Massey  in 
the  carriage,  while  the  three  little  girls  sat  on  a 
seat  facing  Mrs.  Procter,  a  seat  that  could  at  will 
be  let  down  or  pushed  back.  Peter,  to  his  ever- 
lasting delight,  sat  beside  the  coachman. 

"  Out  into  the  country,  Robert,"  said  Mr. 
Massey  to  his  coachman,  and  so  away  they  started 
at  a  leisurely  pace,  since  the  complacent  horses 
refused  any  other.  Sometimes  vagrant  chickens 
wandered  into  the  road,  exhibiting  a  daring  that 
enthralled  Peter.  His  opinion  of  chickens  rose 
when,  the  fat  horses  almost  upon  their  tail 
feathers,  they  disdainfully  moved  off. 

"  We  couldn't  run  one  down,  I  suppose,"  he 
asked  Robert,  hopefully.  "  Just  take  a  feather 
off,  you  know,  to  learn  'em  a  lesson." 

"  I  scared  a  pair  of  'em  good  and  proper, 
once,"  returned  Robert,  who  had  been  known  to 
coddle  an  ailing  worm,  but  at  the  moment  he  was 
just  a  little  boy  with  Peter,  in  very  proper  high 
spirits.  And  while  braggingly  he  went  on  talking 
to  his  delighted  listener,  the  rest  of  the  party  were 
silently,  but  with  keen  enjoyment,  watching  the 
passing  country  side.  It  was  a  ride  to  be  long 
remembered;  the  smooth  roads  wound  alluringly 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  153 

away,  Suzanna  wondered,  to  what  beautiful  hid- 
den country.  The  breezes  fanned  their  cheeks 
with  delicate,  fragrant  breath;  the  birds  sang  over- 
head, or  flew  gaily  about,  adding  harmony  and 
color  to  the  atmosphere.  And  yet,  to  Suzanna's 
horror  the  baby,  apparently  quite  insensible  to  all 
the  beauty  and  totally  oblivious  of  the  gratitude 
due  the  Eagle  Man,  soon  fell  fast  asleep,  engag- 
ingly sucking  his  fat  thumb. 

"  He's  not  very  old,"  whispered  Suzanna  to  her 
host;  "and  he  doesn't  know  he  must  be  truly 
thankful  to  you." 

"  Well,  let  him  rest  comfortably,"  said  the 
Eagle  Man,  and  he  moved  in  such  a  way  that  the 
baby's  head  rested  against  his  knee. 

"  There,  that's  better,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Procter. 
"  I  didn't  suppose  you  wanted  its  neck  to  be 
broken,"  he  ended  gruffly. 

"  You  can't  talk  that  way  to  mother,"  said  Su- 
zanna, very  gently.  "  She's  not  used  to  it,  you 
see,  and  she  might  think  you  meant  it,  though  I 
know  you  better.  Father,  when  he  isn't  thinking 
of  his  invention,  speaks  very  kindly  and  some- 
times he  says,  '  Are  you  tired,  Little  Woman?  ' 

Mrs.  Procter  attempted  to  speak,  but  again  the 
Eagle  Man  stopped  her  —  very  gently,  for  him. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said.    "  It's  rather  interest- 


154  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

ing  to  find  someone,  if  only  a  child,  who's  not 
afraid  to  be  absolutely  sincere." 

They  came  to  a  small  hill  where  Robert  stopped 
his  horses.  The  breezes  had  gone  whispering 
away  and  stillness  was  upon.  all.  Soon  the  birds 
ceased  their  calls ;  over  in  the  west  the  clouds  were 
soft  delicate  folds  of  bronze;  and  even  as  one 
looked  they  broke  into  bars  of  distinct  color, 
orange,  purple,  coral.  An  opal  sunset. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful!  "  cried  Mrs.  Procter. 

"  A  daily  incident,"  returned  the  Eagle  Man, 
but  he,  too,  gazed  at  the  glowing  sky. 

"  And  now,  I  suppose  we  must  return,"  he  said 
at  length,  and  so  Robert  turned  his  horses  upon 
the  homeward  journey. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when,  after  leaving  Mabel 

with  her  mother,  the  little  cottage  came  into  sight, 

and  then  Mrs.  Procter  said  to  the  Eagle  Man: 

'  This  has  been  one  of  the  happiest  days  of  my 

life.     I  thank  you  for  helping  to  make  it  so." 

'  That's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  the  Eagle 
Man  answered  in  his  usual  gruff  voice. 

They  reached  the  gate  and  leaning  upon  it  was 
Mr.  Procter.  He  stared  his  amazement  at  sight 
of  his  family  returning  in  such  state. 

"  Father,  we  had  a  picnic,"  called  Maizie, 
springing  from  the  carriage. 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE   WOODS  155 

"  And  once  I  drove,"  cried  Peter,  almost  falling 
from  his  seat,  "  and  scared  a  chicken." 

"  We've  had  the  grandest  day,  father,"  finished 
Suzanna,  running  to  him.  "  We  went  on  a  picnic 
and  we  took  the  lame  and  halt  along,  Mabel  and 
the  Eagle  Man,  and  they  had  a  good  time,  too." 

"  And  twice  today,  father,"  said  Maizie,  taking 
her  father's  hand,  "  I  remembered  Who  smiled 
at  me." 

"  Who  smiled  at  you?  "  asked  the  Eagle  Man, 
who  heard  everything,  it  seemed. 

"  The  Man  with  the  halo,  Jesus,  you  know," 
Maizie  answered  reverently.  "  When  first  I  was 
a  baby  on  this  earth  He  came  to  smile  at  me  and 
to  wake  me  up.  Suzanna  told  me  so." 

Silence.  Then  the  Eagle  Man  turned  to  Mr. 
Procter.  "  Glad  to  have  met  your  family,  sir." 

"  Glad  you've  had  the  opportunity,"  said  Mr. 
Procter. 

"  You  sold  a  quantity  of  nails  to  me  a  few  weeks 
ago,  good  nails,  too;  not  underweight  either,  I 
noticed,"  said  the  Eagle  Man  at  last.  "  Your 
little  girl  tells  me  you  are  an  inventor." 

"  Yes,  I'm  working  on  a  machine,"  Mr.  Procter 
flushed.  "  It  is  nearly  finished.  That  is,  some- 
times I  think  so;  other  times  completion  seems  far 
away." 


156  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

The  Eagle  Man  paused.  "  I'd  be  interested  in 
seeing  your  invention,"  he  said,  and  stopped.  Yet 
there  was  promise,  too,  in  his  voice,  in  his  eyes. 

Again  the  color  rushed  to  Mr.  Procter's  face. 
He  stared  unbelievingly  at  the  other,  and  then 
said :  "  I'll  be  glad  any  time  to  show  my  machine ; 
to  tell  you  all  about  it  — "  He  hesitated. 
"  There'd  be  a  great  chance  for  you,  should  you 
become  interested  in  it." 

"  Well,  if  that's  the  case,  expect  me  any  time. 
Good-bye." 

Suzanna  spoke  cordially:  "You  must  come 
and  see  us  very  often,"  she  said  warmly,  "  only 
not  on  Tuesday  nights,  if  you're  coming  to  supper, 
because  we  have  stew  then  made  from  the  last  of 
Sunday's  roast." 

"  I'll  remember,"  said  the  Eagle  Man  gravely, 
as  he  gave  the  signal  to  Robert  to  drive  away. 

The  little  family  went  down  through  the  yard 
and  on  to  the  house. 

u  I  must  hurry  with  your  supper,"  said  Mrs. 
Procter.  "  I'm  sorry  you  were  kept  waiting." 
She  felt  rested  enough  not  to  dread  preparing  the 
meal. 

"  Don't  hurry,  I  found  some  crackers,"  said 
Mr.  Procter,  and  added,  "  Why,  I've  not  seen  you 
look  so  happy  in  many  a  long  day." 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  WOODS  157 

"  Well,  I  really  must  thank  Suzanna,"  said 
Mrs.  Procter.  "  She  insisted  upon  a  picnic  be- 
cause the  day  started  wrong.  The  house  is  all 
upset  though,"  she  finished,  as  they  went  into  the 
kitchen. 

"The  house?"  he  returned,  gazing  vaguely 
about.  "  It  looks  all  right  to  me.  Suppose, 
Jane,  he  should  really  be  won  over  to  believe  in 
the  machine.  Oh,  I  never  hoped  I  could  interest 
him!" 

"  It  may  be  the  beginning  of  a  great  day,"  she 
answered.  He  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"  What  should  I  do  without  you  to  encourage, 
to  help,"  he  said. 

"  That's  my  privilege,"  she  said  softly. 

Bending,  he  kissed  her. 


BOOK  II 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  INDIAN  DRILL 

MID  September  and  school  days. 
"  I  like  my  new  teacher,  that's  why  I'm 
happy,"  Suzanna  told  her  mother  at  the  end  of 
the  first  school  day. 

"  I  saw  her,"  said  Maizie,  who  was  a  pupil  at 
public  school  for  the  second  year.  "  She  holds 
her  arm  funny." 

Suzanna  flushed  darkly.  "  She's  beautiful," 
she  averred;  "  she's  my  teacher." 

"  But  didn't  you  see  her  arm?  " 

"  No,"  said  Suzanna,  "  I  did  not." 

Maizie  cried  out  triumphantly:  "  Well,  that's 
the  first  time  you  didn't  see  something  I  saw." 

Suzanna  did  not  answer.  She  could  not  voice 
her  emotions. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  you  or  anyone  in  the  whole 
world  even  to  notice  Miss  Smithson's  arm,"  she 
flung  out,  and  so  Maizie  was  silenced. 

Suzanna  glanced  through  the  window. 

"  Why  there's  father,"  cried  Suzanna;  "  I  won- 
der why  he's  coming  home  so  early?  " 

161 


162  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Mr.  Procter  came  hurriedly  down  the  path, 
pushed  open  the  front  door,  and  with  no  word 
sprang  up  the  stairs.  To  the  attic,  the  children 
knew. 

"  He  must  have  thought  of  something  to  do  to 
The  Machine,"  said  Maizie. 

"  Yes,"  Suzanna  answered;  "  whenever  he  has 
that  still  look  on  his  face  he  has  a  new  idea." 

"  Someone  must  be  taking  his  place  at  the 
store,"  said  Mrs.  Procter.  "  I'm  glad  the  baby's 
asleep.  Be  very  quiet,  children.  Father  may  have 
a  splendid  thought  —  why  there,  he's  coming 
downstairs  again." 

He  entered  the  kitchen  at  once,  his  face  aglow. 

"  Just  the  turn  of  a  screw!  "  he  exclaimed.  He 
spoke  directly  to  his  wife.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  it's 
coming  on.  Nearly  ready  to  show  to  John 
Massey." 

"  Oh,  I  am  happy  for  you,"  she  cried. 

He  spoke  to  Suzanna  and  Maizie:  "Would 
you  chicks  like  to  take  a  walk  down  town  with 
me?"  He  fumbled  in  his  pocket.  "Here's  a 
ticket  good  for  ten  dishes  of  ice  cream."  He  held 
up  a  small  card. 

"Oh,  daddy,  where  did  you  get  it?"  cried 
Maizie. 

"  From  Raymond  Cunningham,  leading  drug- 


THE  INDIAN  DRILL  163 

gist,"  he  announced  slowly.  "  His  soda  fountain 
was  out  of  order  and  I  fixed  it  for  him.  I  didn't 
want  money  for  a  small  act  of  kindness,  so  he 
issued  this  ticket  to  me." 

The  children  were  delighted.  Mrs.  Procter 
smiled  too.  In  generosity  of  spirit,  she  forbore 
to  point  out  to  her  husband  the  fact  that  Raymond 
Cunningham  was  known  from  one  end  of  the  town 
to  the  other  as  one  who  would  "  skin  a  gnat  for 
its  teeth." 

Without  doubt  the  man  now  beaming  upon  his 
little  daughters  had  saved  the  druggist  a  bill  of 
ten  dollars  for  which  he  had  issued  a  ticket  worth 
sixty  cents ! 

But  she  simply  smiled,  and  going  to  her  husband 
she  brushed  an  imaginary  dust  speck  from  his  coat. 
He  caught  her  hand. 

"  Wait,  Dear  One,  till  the  invention  is  ready," 
he  said;  "  all  shall  give  homage  to  my  wife." 

She  did  not  answer  him  in  words,  but  he  seemed 
satisfied  with  the  silence.  Such  moments  of  love, 
of  high  hope,  were  beautiful  to  both. 

The  little  group  started  away  for  their  trip  to 
town. 

Just  as  they  reached  the  drug  store,  Suzanna 
pulled  her  father's  sleeve.  She  was  all  excitement. 

"  See,  daddy,"  she  cried,  "  that  tall  lady  dressed 


164  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

in  black  standing  near  the  lamp  post  is  Miss 
Smithson,  my  new  teacher." 

"  Well,  let's  go  and  say  a  word  to  her,"  sug- 
gested Mr.  Procter,  easily. 

"  Oh,  father,  I  don't  think  she  talks  outside 
of  school,"  said  Suzanna,  her  voice  falling.  She 
fell  into  prim  step  as  they  neared  Miss  Smithson. 

Miss  Smithson,  seeing  Suzanna,  smiled. 

"  This  is  my  father,"  said  Suzanna  proudly. 

"  I  should  know  that  at  once  by  the  close  resem- 
blance," returned  Miss  Smithson. 

"  Yes,  Suzanna  and  I  do  look  alike,"  said  Mr. 
Procter,  "  and  I  think  I've  sold  tacks  to  you."  He 
rarely  failed  to  speak  of  his  work.  He  was  so 
exalted  a  being,  Suzanna  thought  glowingly,  that 
he  lifted  his  daily  labor  to  the  dignity  of  a  fine  art. 
People  must  think  so  too,  because  they  always 
looked  closer  at  him  when  he  spoke  of  weighing 
nails,  or  wrapping  wringers  and  washboards. 

"  We  were  going  on  to  the  drug  store  for  some 
ice  cream.  Will  you  join  us?  "  asked  Mr.  Procter 
of  Miss  Smithson. 

Suzanna's  face  went  white  as  she  waited  Miss 
Smithson's  answer.  Teachers,  being  purely 
ethereal  she  felt,  never  descended  to  the  discussion 
of  materialities.  She  wondered  at  her  father's 
overlooking  this  truth. 


THE  INDIAN  DRILL  165 

But,  "  Thank  you,"  said  the  teacher,  very 
calmly. 

So  together  they  all  entered  the  corner  drug 
store,  Suzanna  still  very  quiet.  Mr.  Procter  found 
a  table  large  enough  to  accommodate  them  all. 
Suzanna  sat  next  to  Maizie. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  a  chocolate  ice  cream 
soda,"  whispered  Maizie. 

"  No,  you  can't,  Maizie,"  Suzanna  returned  in 
an  agony;  "  take  lemon  ice  cream  soda." 

"  But  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Well,  that  doesn't  matter,  Maizie.  Chocolate 
is  too  dark;  and  besides  you  smear  it  all  over  your 
lips  and  it  looks  dreadful;  pale  lemon  ice  cream 
soda  is  sweet  looking.  We  must  do  something  to 
honor  Miss  Smithson,  who's  here  just  because  she 
wouldn't  hurt  father's  feelings." 

But  Maizie  looked  belligerent. 

Suzanna's  temper  threatened  to  flame  forth. 
With  a  mighty  effort  she  controlled  it.  She  turned 
to  her  father.  "  Father,  don't  you  think  Maizie 
had  better  have  lemon  ice  cream  soda?"  she 
asked. 

"Anything  she  wants;  anything  she  wants," 
Mr.  Procter  answered  and  not  lowering  his  voice, 
even  in  Miss  Smithson's  presence:  "What  do 
you  think  you'll  have,  Suzanna?  " 


166  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  I'll  have  a  lemon  ice  cream  soda,"  said 
Suzanna  primly.  And  she  had  difficulty  in 
restraining  her  tears  when  Maizie  deliberately 
gave  her  command  for  chocolate  ice  cream  soda. 
When  the  orders  came  Suzanna  scarcely  touched 
her  glass.  Covertly  she  watched  Miss  Smithson; 
she  saw  how  daintily  that  lady  ate  her  plain  vanilla 
ice  cream;  perhaps,  after  all,  even  teachers  found 
it  necessary  to  find  some  subsistence  and  Miss 
Smithson  had  hit  upon  ice  cream  as  the  most  aes- 
thetic. At  least  Suzanna  was  forced  to  believe  this 
in  her  endeavor  to  keep  intact  her  ideal  of  Miss 
Smithson. 

Then  Miss  Smithson  said  in  a  pleasant,  every- 
day voice : 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  this  opportunity,  Mr.  Proc- 
ter, of  asking  you  if  Suzanna  may  take  part  in  an 
Indian  Drill  I  expect  to  give  at  school  next  month." 

"  Why,  I  can  see  no  reason  against  her  taking 
part,"  said  Mr.  Procter.  "  You  would  enjoy  such 
an  occasion,  would  you  not,  Suzanna?  " 

"  She  will  need  an  outfit,"  Miss  Smithson  went 
on,  treading  delicately,  since  in  part  she  guessed 
the  state  of  the  Procter  finances  and  she  wished 
to  be  very  sure  before  implicating  Suzanna  in  any 
embarrassing  situation,  "  including  dancing  slip- 
pers, though  I  may  be  able  to  rent  the  Indian 


THE  INDIAN  DRILL  167 

costumes  from  a  masquerader  in  the  city,  and  then 
the  cost  will  be  lessened." 

"That  will  be  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Procter 
immediately.  "  Just  tell  us  the  clothes  she  will 
need  and  her  mother  will  get  them." 

"  That's  very  nice,"  said  Miss  Smithson,  though 
she  felt  still  a  little  uneasy. 

"  When  will  the  affair  take  place?  "  Mr.  Proc- 
ter asked. 

"  On  the  fifteenth  of  October.  We  have  ample 
time  for  rehearsals." 

A  little  later  Miss  Smithson  shook  hands  with 
Suzanna's  father,  murmuring  something  conven- 
tional about  his  being  fortunate  in  the  possession 
of  such  an  interesting  family.  Then  she  was  gone. 

The  children,  bidding  father  good-bye,  hastened 
on  home.  They  burst  into  the  house,  anxious  to 
tell  mother  all  about  the  meeting  with  Miss 
Smithson. 

Mrs.  Procter  listened  interestedly.  "  And 
father  said  I  might  take  part  in  the  Indian  Drill," 
said  Suzanna.  "  I  shall  have  to  have  an  outfit 
perhaps  and  dancing  shoes." 

"What  did  father  say  about  that?"  asked 
Mrs.  Procter,  an  anxious  little  frown  growing 
between  her  eyes. 

"  He  said  you  would  get  them  for  me,"  Suzanna 


168  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

returned.  She,  too,  looked  a  little  anxiously  at 
her  mother.  "  But  Miss  Smithson  said  perhaps 
she  could  hire  the  Indian  costumes." 

Mrs.  Procter's  expression  lightened. 

"  Well,  perhaps  she  can,"  she  said. 

"  And  if  she  can't,  mother?  "  Suzanna  breath- 
lessly awaited  the  answer. 

"  Well,  we'll  manage  some  way." 

And  Suzanna  was  satisfied. 

A  week  later  Mr.  Procter  returned  home,  car- 
rying a  mysterious  looking  parcel. 

"  For  you,  Suzanna,"  he  said,  his  eyes  spar- 
kling. "  But  let's  not  open  it  until  after  supper." 

Suzanna  reluctantly  put  the  package  to  one  side. 
That  supper  would  never  end  that  evening  she  had 
a  firm  conviction. 

And  yet  the  end  was  reached,  and  she  iwas 
opening  the  package,  attended  by  the  entire  fam- 
ily. At  last  her  eager  eyes  swept  the  contents, 
and  her  little  beating  heart  for  the  moment 
palpitated  strangely  in  her  throat,  for  there  lay  a 
pair  of  shoes. 

"  Shoes,"  said  Mr.  Procter,  "  for  you  to  wear 
in  the  Indian  Drill.  I  saw  them  thrown  out  in  a 
little  booth  when  I  went  into  Lane's  shoe  shop  for 
a  piece  of  leather  to  be  made  into  washers.  They 
really  were  marked  at  so  ridiculously  low  a  figure 


THE  INDIAN  DRILL  169 

that  I  thought  at  once  we  could  surely  afford  them 
for  Suzanna.  They  are,  I  should  judge,  the  very 
thing  for  the  Indian  Drill." 

To  all  of  which  Suzanna  listened  gravely.  Her 
heart  had  gone  back  to  its  normal  rhythm,  but  her 
eyes  could  not  leave  the  atrocities  lying  before  her. 
Truly,  they  were  of  fine  leather,  but  with  their 
high  French  heels,  and  flat  gilt  buttons,  they  might 
have  been  in  style  when  Suzanna's  mother  was  a 
very  little  girl,  and,  to  be  really  candid,  they  would 
have  lain  under  the  anathema  of  being  out  of  date 
even  then.  But  over  and  beyond  the  painful 
vintage  of  the  shoes  was  the  fact  that  Miss  Smith- 
son  had  announced  that  all  the  girls  taking  part 
in  the  Indian  Drill  should  wear  the  same  kind  of 
shoes.  She  had  gone  farther  and  told  the  children 
that  the  right  kind  of  shoes  could  be  obtained  at 
Bryson's  for  a  dollar  and  forty-eight  cents  a  pair, 
a  really  reduced  price  because  fourteen  pairs  were 
to  be  purchased.  She  had  finished  by  giving  the 
children  the  number  to  be  called  for,  "  A-I41 16." 
Suzanna  knew  the  number  well;  she  had  repeated 
it  mentally  over  and  over  again. 

Finally  Suzanna  found  her  voice.  "  They're 
very  nice,  daddy,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  they  are  very  nice,"  he  said.  "  See,  you 
can  turn  them  up.  They're  as  soft  as  a  kid  glove." 


170  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  Well,  since  you've  bought  the  shoes,"  said 
Mrs.  Procter,  "  and  probably  at  a  very  reasonable 
figure  —  "  she  paused,  and  Mr.  Procter  finished: 

"  Yes,  they  were  only  forty-eight  cents,  a 
remarkable  bargain,  I  think." 

"  Remarkable,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  picking 
them  up.  ;'  Why,  I  believe  they're  a  handmade 
shoe!  Well,"  she  went  on,  "  since  the  shoes  are 
accounted  for,  I  think  if  I  have  to  I  can  quite 
easily  manage  the  rest  of  the  outfit." 

Suzanna's  heart  sank  lower.  She  only  wondered 
miserably  if  her  mother,  seeing  a  piece  of  inex- 
pensive goods  of  almost  any  shade,  and  finding  a 
pattern  easy  to  manage,  would  make  up  what  she 
thought  would  do  quite  well  for  the  Indian  Drill 
costume.  Then  her  thoughts  returned  to  the  shoes. 
Perhaps  after  all  they  wouldn't  fit !  She  was  ena- 
bled by  that  emancipating  thought  to  turn  a  happier 
face  to  her  father  and  again  to  thank  him. 

But  alas,  the  shoes  fitted  perfectly. 

"  I  think,"  said  Suzanna  desperately,  "  that 
perhaps  they're  a  little  bit  too  small  —  narrow,  I 
mean." 

"  Do  they  hurt  you?  "  asked  her  mother. 

Suzanna  had  to  confess  that  they  didn't  hurt. 

"  They  certainly  make  your  foot  look  very  nice 
and  slender,"  said  her  father. 


THE  INDIAN  DRILL  171 

Well,  Suzanna  thought  miserably,  she  should 
have  to  wear  them,  and  in  that  belief  all  interest 
in  the  Indian  Drill  left  her.  She  simply  couldn't, 
she  felt,  take  her  lead  on  the  eventful  day  wearing 
those  shoes.  Every  eye  in  the  audience,  she  knew, 
would  be  fixed  upon  them,  so  different  from  those 
of  the  other  girls,  so  terribly  old-fashioned,  as 
instinctively  she  sensed  them  to  be. 

Mrs.  Procter  carefully  wrapped  the  bargains  in 
the  original  tissue  paper.  She  was  happy  in  the 
thought  that  her  little  daughter  was  provided  with 
a  pretty  and  appropriate  pair  of  dancing  shoes. 

But  it  was  very  perfunctorily  that  Suzanna  went 
through  the  ensuing  rehearsals  at  school.  Her 
spirits  were  not  lifted  even  when  Miss  Smithson 
announced  that  the  costumes  were  to  be  obtained 
through  a  masquerader  at  the  small  cost  of  twen- 
ty-five cents  for  each  pupil.  But  at  length,  the 
child's  natural  persevering  force  had  its  way,  and 
she  set  her  mind  to  studying  the  question  of  how 
to  avoid  wearing  the  unsuitable  shoes  and  still 
preserve  her  father's  confidence  in  his  own  good 
judgment.  Usually  she  asked  no  help,  Working 
alone  on  the  problems  which  assailed  her,  but 
suddenly  the  thought  of  her  friend  Drusilla  came 
to  her.  She  would  ask  Drusilla  what  she  thought 
about  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DRUSILLA'S  REMINISCENCES 

ONE  afternoon  immediately  after  school, 
Suzanna,  taking  Maizie  with  her,  went  to 
call  on  Drusilla.  Twice  since  her  first  visit  in  July 
she  had  gone  to  the  little  home,  but  on  both  occa- 
sions Drusilla  had  been  ill,  unable  to  see  anyone. 
But  today  the  pleasant  faced  maid  admitted  the 
children. 

"  Go  right  up  to  the  attic,"  she  said.  "  Mrs. 
Bartlett  is  there  looking  over  some  old  trunks." 

In  the  attic,  a  tiny  place  with  slanting  roof  and 
unfinished  walls,  the  children  found  Mrs.  Bartlett, 
sitting  on  the  floor  beside  a  huge,  overflowing 
trunk.  Old-fashioned  dresses,  high-heeled  satin 
slippers,  dancing  programs,  painted  fans,  were  all 
heaped  together. 

"  We've  come  to  see  you,  Drusilla,"  said 
Suzanna  at  once.  "  I've  been  twice  before,  but 
you  didn't  know  it.  This  is  my  sister,  Maizie. 
I've  got  a  very  important  question  to  ask  you." 

Drusilla  rose  from  the  floor.  "  I'm  glad  to  see 
you  both.  I've  often  thought  of  you,  Suzanna. 

172 


DRUSILLA' S  REMINISCENCES  173 

Close  the  lid  of  that  trunk  and  sit  on  it  and  your 
little  sister  Maizie  can  sit  in  that  old  easy  chair 
in  the  corner.  That  is,  if  you  want  to  stay  up 
here  in  the  attic." 

Suzanna  looked  about  her.  The  attic  was 
rather  sad-looking,  she  thought,  not  full  of  its  own 
importance  as  the  one  at  home,  but  still,  very 
interesting.  Old  portraits  hung  on  the  slanting 
walls.  In  corners  were  piles  of  old  furniture  look- 
ing strangely  lifelike  in  the  shadows. 

"  We'd  rather  stay  up  here,  Drusilla,"  she  said. 
"  And  we'll  stay  a  long  time  with  you,  if  you  like." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Drusilla.  She  drew  forth  a 
low  rocker  and  seated  herself. 

Suzanna  suddenly  remembered  her  manners. 
"  Perhaps  we  shouldn't  have  come  today  any- 
way," she  said.  "  You  were  busy  with  your  trunk 
when  we  came  up." 

"  I  was  just  looking  over  some  old  dresses  and 
relics  I've  kept  for  many  years,"  said  Drusilla. 
"  There's  a  dress  in  there,"  she  said,  "  that  I  wore 
when  as  a  young  girl  I  lived  with  my  parents  way 
back  across  the  ocean," 

"A  big  city?"  asked  Maizie.  "Not  like 
Anchorville?  " 

"  A  big  city,"  returned  Drusilla.  "  You  see  that 
glass  case  in  the  corner?  Go  and  look  at  it." 


174  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Suzanna  and  Maizie  sprang  up  and  went  to  the 
dusky  corner.  On  a  table  stood  the  glass  case, 
and  under  it  was  an  apple,  a  pear,  a  bunch  of 
grapes,  and  a  banana,  all  made  of  wax. 

'  That  came  from  the  city  across  the  water," 
said  Drusilla.  "  It  was  given  to  my  grandmother 
by  our  old  herb  woman." 

The  children  left  the  wax  fruit  and  went  and 
stood  quite  close  to  Drusilla.  "  What's  an  old 
herb  woman?  "  asked  Maizie,  interestedly. 

"  Why,  she  was  our  doctor  in  those  days.  She 
had  an  old  shop  buried  away  in  a  part  of  the  town 
that  we  reached  by  crossing  a  canal.  Many  is  the 
time  my  grandmother  took  me  to  that  old  shop 
with  its  rows  of  dried  herbs  hanging  from  the 
ceiling;  with  its  old  worn  corners,  and  its  barrel 
of  white  cocoanut  oil  standing  near  the  door.  Oh, 
I  loved  that  place.  I  loved  the  smell  of  the  herbs 
and  I  loved  the  little  old  woman  who  could  brew 
teas  from  her  herbs  that  would  cure  any  ailment 
in  the  world,  I  thought.  And  then  right  next  to 
the  old  herb  shop  was  a  pawn  shop  with  three 
tarnished  golden  balls  above  the  door." 

"A  pawn  shop?"  The  children  wanted  to 
know  the  meaning  of  that  kind  of  shop. 

"  A  shop,"  said  Drusilla,  warming  to  her  keen 
audience,  "  to  which  you  could  bring  anything, 


DRUSILLA'S  REMINISCENCES  175 

from  a  worn  out  dress  to  a  piece  of  jewelry,  and 
get  money  for  it  and  a  ticket.  And  if  you  wanted 
the  dress  or  the  jewelry  back  again,  then  you 
brought  the  ticket  and  the  money  and  a  little 
interest. 

"  The  old  pawn  shop  was  a  landmark.  It  had 
stood  next  to  the  herb  shop,  my  grandmother  told 
me,  for  a  hundred  years;  during  all  these  years 
owned  by  the  same  family.  When  I  was  a  little 
girl  a  woman  kept  the  shop.  She  was  very  tall, 
very  thin,  with  quantities  of  black  hair  braided  and 
wound  round  and  round  her  head.  She  wore 
always  a  Paisley  shawl  of  faded  colors,  and  her 
hair  coiled  as  it  was  made  me  think  always  of  a 
crown. 

'  The  shop  was  long  and  narrow  and  full  of 
wonderful  rare,  old  curios  —  old  violins,  cameos, 
and  uncut  stones.  I  was  allowed  to  go  all  over  the 
shop;  to  open  quaint  cases,  to  go  upstairs  and  out 
upon  an  old  gallery  and  to  lift  from  their  drawers 
silken  crapes,  and  to  find,  buried  away,  whispering 
sea-shells  and  crystal  bottles,  and  irregular  pieces 
of  blue-veined  marble  and  alabaster.  Oh,  the 
happy,  thrilling  hours  I  spent  in  that  place !  My 
grandmother  told  me  that  scholars  came  from 
every  part  of  the  country  to  see  this  tucked-away, 
historic  old  pawn  shop." 


176  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Drusilla  paused,  but  in  a  moment  to  the  chil- 
dren's relief  she  went  on:  "  Then  on  a  quite  busy 
street,  back  this  side  of  the  canal,  the  side  we  lived 
on,  was  a  large  place  called  an  ovenry.  And  there 
we  sent  our  bread  to  be  baked." 

The  children's  eyes  widened. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  Drusilla,  "  we  put  our  dough 
to  rise  at  home,  made  it  into  little  loaves,  pricked 
our  initial  —  or  some  other  distinguishing  mark 
—  on  top  when  it  lay  in  its  pans,  and  then  a  big 
red-faced  man  with  a  wagon  drawn  by  a  donkey 
called  for  our  bread.  Once  my  grandmother  let 
me  ride  with  him,  and  I  stayed  all  afternoon  in 
his  ovenry,  though  the  fire  from  the  big  ovens 
made  it  uncomfortably  hot.  I  watched  him  and 
his  helpers  put  the  pans  of  bread  on  big  shovels 
and  heave  them  into  yawning  caves  of  flames. 
When  they  were  finished,  another  red-faced  man 
delivered  them  baked  brown,  and  smoking,  to  the 
customers.  We  paid  a  penny  a  loaf  for  having 
our  bread  baked." 

"  Oh,  and  that  saved  you  buying  so  much  coal, 
didn't  it?"  asked  Maizie.  "I  wish  we  had  an 
ovenry  in  Anchorville." 

"  Yes,"  said  Drusilla,  "  I  think,  myself,  some 
of  these  old-fashioned  ideas  were  economical." 

"  There  isn't  a  pawn  shop  anywhere  near,  is 


DRUSILLA'S  REMINISCENCES  177 

there?  "  asked  Suzanna.  She  was  thinking  about 
the  shoes  and  what  a  blessing  it  would  be  to  dis- 
pose of  them. 

"  I  don't  believe  so,"  Brasilia  answered. 
"  Anyway,  there  couldn't  be  another  like  that  won- 
derful shop  of  my  youth." 

There  ensued  a  silence.  Suddenly  leaning  for- 
ward, Suzanna  began  very  earnestly: 

"  Drusilla,  I  have  a  very  important  question  to 
ask  you.  Which  would  you  rather  do,  be  honest 
or  suffer?" 

"  Be  honest  or  suffer?  "  repeated  Brasilia.  "  I 
don't  quite  understand." 

"  Well,  you  see,  it's  this  way,"  said  Suzanna. 
"  Now,  Maizie,  I  see  you're  listening  with  your 
eyes  wide  open,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  now  that 
you  mustn't  say  anything  to  father  of  what  I'm 
going  to  tell  Brasilia."  Having  delivered  this 
ultimatum,  she  went  on  and  told  of  the  Indian 
Brill  and  of  the  costumes,  and  then  of  her  father's 
recent  purchase  of  the  shoes.  "  I  can't  tell  daddy 
that  the  shoes  would  be  different  from  every- 
body's else,"  she  said,  "  because  it  will  hurt  his 
feelings.  But,  oh,  Brasilia!  My  heart  jumps 
into  my  throat  when  I  think  of  wearing  those  shoes 
so  different  from  everyone  else's." 

"  The  shoes  cost  forty-eight  cents,"  elaborated 


178  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Maizie,  "  and  so  you  can  see  Suzanna  has  to  wear 
them  whether  she  likes  them  or  not." 

'  Yes,"  said  Suzanna,  "  forty-eight  cents  is  very 
near  to  half  a  dollar  and  we  can't  afford  to  lose 
that.  I  thought,  Drusilla,  that  you  could  give  me 
some  advice.  That's  all  I  want,  just  that  you  tell 
me  which  is  best,  to  be  honest  or  to  suffer.  You 
told  me  once  about  the  little  silver  chain  and  that 
has  helped  me  a  lot." 

Drusilla  looked  puzzled.  "  The  silver  chain?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Yes,  don't  you  remember  that  day  you  were 
queen  and  told  me  about  the  chain?"  asked 
Suzanna. 

In  a  second  a  remarkable  change  came  over  the 
old  lady.  She  rose  to  her  feet.  Then  she  turned 
to  Suzanna,  her  shoulders  straight  and  her  head 
held  high. 

"  My  crown,"  she  demanded.  "  Is  that  to  be 
lifted  from  me  in  these  the  full  years  of  my  queen- 
hood?" 

"  I've  never  seen  you  with  a  crown  on,"  said 
Suzanna. 

"Enough,  serf!"  cried  the  queen  haughtily. 
"  Procure  me  my  crown."  Suzanna  looked  about 
her.  An  old  dried-up  Christmas  wreath  hanging 
on  a  rafter  attracted  her  attention.  Quickly  she 


DRUSILLA'S  REMINISCENCES  179 

procured  it  and  held  it  out  to  Brasilia.  "  Here  is 
your  crown,  Queen,"  she  said.  And  then,  her 
voice  changing,  she  said:  "You'd  better  let  me 
put  it  on,  Brasilia,  it's  liable  to  crumble  if  you're 
not  careful.  Lower  your  head,  please." 

The  old  lady  did  so  and  Suzanna  placed  the 
crown  upon  the  silver  hair. 

"  Now,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  if  you  have  sought 
me  to  gain  advice,  repeat  your  question,  that  I 
may  answer  in  a  manner  worthy  my  exalted  sta- 
tion." 

"  Well,"  said  Suzanna  for  the  third  time,  "  I 
want  to  know  whether  it's  best  to  be  honest  or  to 
suffer?" 

'  What  shall  be  your  course  if  you  are  hon- 
est? "  asked  the  queen. 

Suzanna  pondered.  "  I  think  I'll  tell  daddy, 
perhaps  tonight,"  she  said  at  last,  "  that  to  wear 
the  shoes  will  hurt  my  feelings  dreadfully;  that  I 
tremble  when  I  think  of  being  the  only  girl  in  the 
drill  without  low  shoes  with  two  straps.  Some- 
thing like  moccasins.  If  I  tell  daddy  this,  then 
I'll  be  honest." 

"  And  if  you  decide  to  suffer?  " 
'  Then  I'll  wear  the  shoes  at  the  drill  and  from 
the  time  I  put  them  on  till  the  drill  is  over,  I'll  be 
full  of  pain.    I'll  know  that  everybody  will  be  just 


180  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

looking  at  my  feet,  and  I'll  not  enjoy  the  dance 
one  bit." 

The  queen  knit  her  brows.  Then  her  answer 
came :  "  Be  not  honest  in  the  way  you  describe, 
neither  suffer." 

"  But,  Drusilla,"  Suzanna  objected,  "  I  don't 
understand." 

"And  can  you  not  be  brave?  "  asked  the  queen 
with  a  note  of  scorn  in  her  voice.  "  Is  it  left  to 
one  who  feels  the  time  approaching  when  she  will 
be  deposed  from  her  throne  and  all  she  holds  dear, 
alone  to  have  courage  ?  "  She  looked  straight  into 
Suzanna's  dark  eyes.  "  Your  father  knows  joy 
in  thinking  he  has  given  you  your  heart's  desire. 
Why,  then,  hurt  him  by  telling  him  that  the  shoes 
are  not  your  desire?  Why  not,  with  head  held 
high,  lead  the  dance  you  speak  of,  and  forget 
shoes,  and  remember  only  the  movement  of  the 
dance,  the  lilt  of  the  music?  " 

"  Is  that  bravery?  "  asked  Suzanna. 

"  The  greatest  bravery,"  returned  the  queen, 
"  will  be  to  say  to  yourself,  '  Am  I  so  poor  a  maid 
that  I  cannot  by  the  very  beauty  of  my  dancing 
keep  the  eyes  of  the  watchers  lifted  clear  above 
my  shoes?  For  shoes,  what  are  shoes?  Leather 
and  wood.  Inanimate,  unthinking  stuff  They 
are  not  worth  one  heart  pang,  one  moment  of 


DRUSILLA'S  REMINISCENCES  181 

misery  to  me  or  mine.  But  I,  I  am  alive.  I  can 
see  and  think  and  understand.  I  can  go  so  joy- 
ously through  the  mazes  of  the  dance  that  the 
watchers  may  forget  their  sordid  cares.'  ' 

Suzanna,  listening,  was  carried  away.  She  cried 
with  eager  response :  "  Why  the  night  of  the 
Indian  Drill  I  can  believe  I  am  a  fairy,  dancing 
over  snow-topped  mountains,  and  singing,  flying 
clear  up  into  the  clouds !  " 

"  You  might  fall,  Suzanna,"  said  Maizie,  "  you 
know  you  haven't  wings." 

But  on  this  occasion  Suzanna  was  not  to  be 
recalled  to  earth,  and  besides  in  her  queen's  inter- 
ested, understanding  face,  she  felt  a  quick  fellow- 
ship to  the  spirit  that  dwelt  within  her. 

And  then  breaking  harshly  into  the  wonder  of 
this  moment  came  the  tinkle,  tinkle  of  the  electric 
bell. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Maizie,  "  someone  is  coming." 

"  I  shall  brook  no  intruders,"  cried  the  queen. 

"  No  matter  who  it  is?  "  asked  Suzanna. 

"  No  matter  who  it  is.  I  desire  to  be  alone  with 
my  court.  However,  you  can  peep  over  the  banis- 
ters and  see  who  dares  come  thus  upon  us." 

Suzanna  went  to  the  top  of  the  stairs.  The 
maid  was  ushering  in  a  lady  and  a  boy. 

"  Go  right  upstairs,"  Suzanna  heard  the  maid 


182  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

say.  "  Mrs.  Bartlett  's  in  the  attic  with  two  of 
the  Procter  children." 

The  visitors  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  stairs 
and  paused  to  glance  in. 

The  lady  was  beautifully  dressed,  quite  exqui- 
sitely, from  the  dainty  little  toque  upon  her 
haughty  head  to  her  small  gray  cloth  shoes.  Her 
eyes,  flashing  from  pansy  shades  to  lightest  blue, 
were  cold.  Her  white  skin  seemed  to  hold  no 
possibility  of  color.  Yet,  even  as  she  stood,  the 
milk  of  it  turned  to  rose  when  Drusilla  gazed  at 
her  with  no  warmth  of  recognition  in  her  glance. 

The  boy,  about  twelve,  Suzanna  surmised  cor- 
rectly, stood  forward.  There  was  some  of  his 
mother's  haughtiness  in  his  bearing,  a  great  deal 
of  her  beauty.  But  added  to  both,  a  rare,  high 
look  as  though  always  he  were  seeking  what  lay 
beyond  his  grasp,  and  perhaps  his  comprehension. 
He  seemed  altogether  like  a  child  whose  emotional 
values  did  not  stand  clear.  He  gazed  half  prayer- 
fully at  his  grandmother,  as  though  asking  and 
bestowing  at  the  same  time. 

Breaking  into  the  embarrassing  silence,  Suzanna 
spoke : 

"  Drusilla  has  her  crown  on,"  she  said.  "  You 
see,  she's  a  queen  now,  and  she's  been  answering 
some  questions  of  mine." 


DRUSILLA'S  REMINISCENCES  183 

The  lady  in  the  doorway  looked  at  Suzanna 
meditatively.  Then  she  spoke  directly  to  Dru- 
silla. 

"  May  I  come  in,  mother?  "  she  asked.  "  You 
see  I've  brought  Graham." 

Drusilla  began :  "  Court  was  in  session.  How- 
ever, I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  remain."  The 
boy,  who  had  remained  quiet,  now  spoke. 

"  Oh,  bully,  mother;  grandmother's  playing 
again.  I  want  to  stay." 

But  his  mother  put  out  a  detaining  hand  as  he 
attempted  to  enter  the  attic. 

"  No  —  we  can't  stay  now  —  "  She  spoke 
directly  again  to  Drusilla.  "  We'll  come  again  — 
when  you  are  more  —  yourself." 

In  a  moment  she  was  gone  down  the  stairs, 
leaving  after  her  a  soft  fragrance.  The  boy  obe- 
diently followed  her.  In  the  hall  below  she 
encountered  the  maid.  She  whispered  a  few  hur- 
ried words  before  taking  her  departure. 

The  maid  went  up  immediately  into  the  attic. 

Drusilla  was  again  talking  eloquently  while 
Suzanna  and  Maizie  stood  listening  spellbound. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  maid,  breaking  in  quietly 
but  firmly,  "  that  you  little  girls  had  better  go 
home  now.  Mrs.  Bartlett  is  tired  and  I  want  her 
to  lie  down." 


184  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

She  approached  the  queen.  "  Come,  Mrs. 
Bartlett,"  she  said,  "  you  must  rest  now."  She 
raised  her  hand  as  though  to  remove  the  crown 
of  faded  leaves. 

"  What  means  this  sacrilege?  "  cried  the  queen, 
stepping  backward. 

"  She  likes  to  wear  her  crown  when  she's  a 
queen,"  said  Suzanna,  much  distressed. 

"  But  she  can't  lie  down  in  her  crown,  you 
know,  little  girl,  it  will  hurt  her." 

"  Well,  that's  true,  Drusilla,"  Suzanna  con- 
ceded. "  Will  you  put  your  head  down  and  I'll 
take  the  crown  off  very  carefully  and  we'll  put  it 
away  for  another  day." 

The  queen  obediently  lowered  her  silver  head 
to  Suzanna.  Suzanna  very  carefully  removed  the 
wreath  and  hung  it  on  its  old  nail. 

"  I  am  tired,"  said  the  old  lady,  now  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  a  little.  "  But  you'll  come  again 
soon,  won't  you?"  she  asked,  appealing  to 
Suzanna. 

'  Yes,  just  as  soon  as  I  can,"  said  Suzanna. 
"  Come,  Maizie.  Good-bye,  Drusilla,  and  thank 
you  very  much  for  helping  me." 

Drusilla  brightened.  "  That's  nice,  to  know 
that  I  can  still  help  someone,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS.  GRAHAM  WOODS  BARTLETT 

THE  great  house  stood  on  a  hilltop  quite  two 
miles  from  the  station,  and  cut  into  the 
immense  iron  door  standing  guard  to  the  grounds 
was  the  name  "  Bartlett  Villa." 

Here  for  a  small  part  of  the  year  the  Graham 
Woods  Bartletts  lived.  The  family  consisted  of 
mother,  father,  and  son,  named  for  his  father. 
In  the  city  another  house  as  large  and  more  pala- 
tial received  the  family  when  they  tired  of  the 
country  home. 

Mr.  Graham  Woods  Bartlett  held  large  inter- 
ests in  the  Massey  Steel  Mills.  That  he  might  be 
on  the  ground  part  of  the  time  he  had  built 
Bartlett  Villa.  In  his  heart  he  loved  the  small 
town.  It  was  like  a  retreat  to  him  to  come  back 
to  its  quiet  after  feverish  hours  spent  in  the 
crowded  city.  Here  he  seemed  to  recall  in  part  a 
few  of  his  vanished  dreams  —  those  dreams  so 
bright,  so  well-nigh  impossible  of  fulfillment, 
which  as  a  young  man  fresh  from  college  he  had 
cherished.  While  young,  he  met  and  loved  the 

185 


186  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

girl  he  married.  That  she  had  visions  he  per- 
fectly believed.  That  her  visions  were  unworthy 
no  power  then  could  have  made  him  believe.  She 
came  from  an  impecunious  family  whose  lineage 
was  older  and  greater  than  his.  How  she  could 
have  thought  the  high-browed,  sensitive-faced 
young  man  the  one  who  could  fulfill  her  grasping 
desires  is  not  to  be  fathomed.  She  had  believed 
so,  and  he  did  bring  to  pass  all  her  aspirations. 
That  in  doing  so  he  killed  his  finest  ideals  mat- 
tered not. 

Young  Graham,  too,  was  always  glad  when  the 
time  came  for  a  stay  at  Bartlett  Villa  in  Anchor- 
ville.  He  loved  the  big  upstanding  elms;  loved 
the  many  gardens,  and  the  flaunting  flowers.  He 
loved  the  two  people  who  belonged  properly  in 
the  environs  of  Bartlett  Villa  —  old  Nancy, 
who  had  been  his  mother's  nurse  and  his  own,  and 
David,  the  gardener,  with  his  little  daughter 
Daphne. 

Nancy,  old,  with  hard  rosy  cheeks,  was  still  so 
real.  She  worked  and  sang,  loved  and  sometimes 
resented  on  behalf  of  those  whom  she  served. 
Often,  when  quite  a  little  boy,  Graham  would  seek 
her  in  the  old  nursery  of  the  city  home  and  climb 
into  her  lap,  rest  his  curly  head  against  her  loving 
breast,  and  sometimes  contentedly  fall  asleep. 


MRS.  GRAHAM    WOODS  BARTLETT  187 

He  never  so  cuddled  with  his  mother,  no  matter 
how  fervent  the  longings  that  filled  his  heart.  She 
was  always  finely  dressed;  and  her  eyes  were  never 
for  him  alone.  They  were  fixed  on  some  distant 
and  glittering  goal,  quite  beyond  the  boy's  under- 
standing. 

Then  there  was  David,  big  of  stature,  big  of 
mind.  David,  given  over  to  many  long,  silent 
periods,  because  David  had  lost  a  loved  and  cher- 
ished one. 

There  were  times  when  David  would  take  Gra- 
ham with  him  on  long  rambles,  and  then  he  would 
talk.  He  knew  everything  about  the  birds,  their 
habits,  their  peculiarities,  their  fears,  and  their 
courage.  He  put  into  Graham  a  great  love  for 
the  little  creatures.  Often  together  near  a  nest 
they  would  stand,  and,  scarce  breathing,  watch  the 
first  lesson  given  by  a  mother  bird  to  a  frightened 
young  one. 

"  She's  greater,  that  mother,  than  some 
humans,"  David  said  once,  when  they  were  on 
their  way  home. 

"  Why?  "  asked  Graham,  interestedly. 
'  Well,"  said  David,  slowly,  "  we  most  of  us 
hold  on  too  long  when  it's  time  for  those  we  love 
to  try  their  wings." 

"  You  wouldn't  hold  on,  would  you,  David?  " 


188  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

asked  Graham,  his  boyish  eyes  upturned  in  perfect 
faith  to  his  friend. 

"  I  might,  Graham;  human  nature  is  weak  and 
wants  always  its  own." 

Upon  reaching  home  Graham  would  ask: 
'  Will  you  have  time  to  go  riding  this  afternoon, 
David?  " 

And  David  would  answer:  "  Perhaps,  my  lad, 
if  there's  not  too  much  work  in  the  gardens." 

Once  Graham  asked:  "  Why  do  you  do  such 
work,  David?  You  could  be  in  the  city  making 
lots  of  money."  Thus  Graham,  who  through  her- 
itage had  been  innoculated  with  that  thought, 
that  money  meant  everything. 

And  David  had  turned  with  a  swift  gesture: 
"  Why  should  I  mistreat  my  spirit,  kill  my  bright- 
est self  trying  for  money,  young  Graham?  Here 
among  my  flowers,  working  in  the  soil,  I  find  time 
to  think." 

Graham  looked  strangely  at  David.  Time  to 
think!  On  what?  Well  he  knew  that  David 
would  tell  him  some  day,  and  then  he  would  weigh 
in  his  own  mind  the  question  of  whether  it  were 
wise  to  work  hard  at  something  that  took  all  your 
time  in  order  to  make  lots  of  money;  or  to  work 
at  something  that  while  you  worked  gave  you  time 
to  think  and  grow. 


MRS.  GRAHAM  WOODS  BARTLETT     189 

David  had  an  uncanny  way  of  knowing 
another's  thoughts.  "  It's  not  altogether  what 
you  work  at,  lad,"  he  said,  "  it's  what  your  ideals 
of  life  are."  And  turning,  he  left  Graham  to 
ponder. 

On  the  day  that  he  and  his  mother  had  paid  the 
visit  to  his  grandmother  in  the  attic,  the  boy's 
mind  was  deeply  concerned  with  the  scene  he  had 
witnessed  in  his  grandmother's  attic.  He  envied 
the  Procter  children,  since  there  grew  in  his  imagi- 
nation the  treasure  a  grandmother  could  be.  She 
probably  knew  "  bully  "  stories  of  long-ago  days. 
Certainly  as  she  stood,  crowned,  she  seemed  the 
best  sort  of  a  playfellow,  since  she  could  pretend 
as  well  as  any  child. 

His  mother  drove  him  home  and  then  went  to 
pay  a  call  in  a  near  town.  He  had  gone  directly 
to  his  own  room.  A  telegrapher's  outfit,  in  which 
he  was  then  greatly  interested,  needed  his  atten- 
tion. He  was  anxious  to  resume  work  on  it;  still 
his  undermind,  even  as  he  drew  forth  the  machine 
and  began  to  work,  was  busy. 

Suddenly  he  remembered  the  time  last  year 
when  his  mother  had  made  elaborate  preparations 
for  an  extended  sojourn  in  the  South.  They  were 
then  in  their  city  home.  He  had  ardently  wished 
that  she  would  decide  to  take  him  with  her,  but 


190  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

the  thought  evidently  did  not  occur  to  her.  He 
had  said  good-bye  to  her  with  a  strange,  empty 
feeling  at  his  heart. 

And  then  quite  unexpectedly  she  had  returned, 
her  contemplated  stay  cut  enchantmgly  short.  She 
had  talked  with  him,  taken  long  walks  with  him, 
even  accompanied  him  to  several  ball  games. 

For  a  month  she  had  been  a  friend,  a  good 
friend  interested  in  boyish  sports,  in  active  games, 
and  once  in  an  open  moment  she  had  asked  him 
if  he  had  ever  been  lonely. 

He  answered,  not  wishing  to  hurt  her:  "  Some- 
times, when  you  stayed  for  months  in  Italy.  But 
I  was  only  a  very  small  boy  then.  Father  had  to 
be  away  most  of  the  time  too,  and  the  tutor  you 
got  for  me  wouldn't  allow  me  to  talk  with  other 
children  until  he  knew  all  about  where  their 
fathers  and  mothers  came  from  and  how  much 
money  they  had." 

She  was  touched.  She  meant  then  to  see  that 
her  boy  should  have  more  of  the  normal  boy  life 
of  fun  and  roughness. 

But  gradually  her  old  desire  for  social  leader- 
ship pressed  in  on  her.  And  it  took  all  her  time 
and  energy  to  dress,  to  entertain,  to  outdo  her 
social  rivals.  And  Graham  went  his  own  way 
again,  only  wishing  that  it  was  not  necessary  for 


MRS.  GRAHAM    WOODS  BARTLETT          191 

both  father  and  mother  to  be  so  occupied  with 
outside  interests  that  they  had  little  time  for  their 
one  child. 

After  a  time  he  left  his  machine  to  look  out  of 
the  window,  and  as  he  stood,  he  saw  his  mother. 
She  had  left  her  small  runabout,  and  David  was 
leading  the  horse  to  the  stables. 

He  saw  her  enter  the  house.  In  a  moment  he 
heard  her  talking  in  her  sweet  voice  to  one  of  the 
servants  before  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  her  own 
room.  She  would  then,  Graham  knew,  be  in  the 
hands  of  her  maid  for  a  long  time,  since  she  was 
giving  a  formal  dinner  party  that  evening. 

When  the  shadows  were  lengthening  Graham 
left  his  room  and  wandered  aimlessly  around  the 
house.  Finally  he  reached  the  kitchen,  where  he 
sat  for  a  time,  watching  the  imported  French 
chef's  noble  efforts  for  the  coming  dinner,  efforts 
that  must  result  in  the  wide  proclamation  of  Mrs. 
Graham  Woods  Bartlett  as  an  original  hostess. 
But  in  the  kitchen  it  was  made  manifest  that 
Graham's  presence  was  not  welcome.  At  last, 
feeling  this  truth,  he  left. 

The  maid,  coming  from  his  mother's  room  and 
meeting  him  in  the  hall,  told  him  that  his  dinner 
was  to  be  served  at  six  in  his  own  room.  '  Your 
mother  thought  you'd  like  that,"  she  finished. 


192  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Graham  nodded  without  speaking  and  went  on 
once  more  to  his  own  room.  He  felt  lonely,  dis- 
pirited. Old  Nancy,  to  whom  he  might  have 
turned,  had  gone  to  her  old  home  to  visit  some 
grandchildren.  David,  he  knew,  would  be  very 
busy. 

At  six  the  boy's  dinner  was  brought,  and  with 
the  hearty  appetite  of  boyhood  he  ate.  After- 
wards he  read  a  little,  and  then,  feeling  tired,  he 
concluded  to  retire.  But  he  did  not  go  to  sleep  at 
once.  Occasionally  he  heard  interesting  sounds 
from  below,  music  from  a  string  orchestra,  laugh- 
ter of  women,  and  the  bass  voices  of  men. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  was  still  lying  awake  when 
he  heard  a  little  running  step  outside  his  door. 
Out  of  an  impulse  he  called  softly,  "  Mother." 

Mrs.  Graham  Woods  Bartlett,  on  her  way  to 
her  private  safe  for  a  piece  of  jade  she  wished  to 
show  one  of  her  guests,  paused  at  the  call.  Then 
she  pushed  open  Graham's  door,  which  was 
slightly  ajar,  and  went  in.  Graham  sat  up.  By 
the  glow  of  a  small  electric  light  near  his  bed  he 
could  plainly  see  his  mother.  She  was  a  beautiful 
vision  in  her  soft  white  gown,  quite  untouched  by 
any  color,  her  hair  piled  high  upon  her  small, 
finely  shaped  head. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  Graham?  "  she  asked. 


MRS.  GRAHAM  WOODS  BARTLETT     193 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  wanted  to  see  you  all 
dressed." 

She  went  quickly  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed.  "  Did  they  serve  you  a  nice  dinner, 
Graham?  "  she  asked. 

He  nodded.    "  Very  nice,"  he  answered. 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  asleep  long  ago,"  she  said. 
"  Otherwise  I  should  have  looked  in  on  you." 

"  I  couldn't  sleep,"  he  answered.  Then 
impulsively:  "  Mother,  I  know  you  have  to  go 
downstairs  again  soon,  but  I've  been  thinking  so 
much  of  grandmother.  Wouldn't  it  be  possible 
to  have  her  come  to  live  here  with  us?  We've 
got  such  a  big  house,  and  she  must  be  very  lonely." 

She  drew  herself  a  little  away  from  him.  "  Per- 
haps I  haven't  explained  to  you,  Graham,"  she 
said,  "  that  your  grandmother  is  given  to  periods 
of  hallucinations.  That  is,  she  has  peculiar  fan- 
cies, one  of  them  being  that  she  thinks  herself  a 
queen." 

"  Well,  does  it  hurt  if  she  does  think  she's  a 
queen?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  In  this  way  it  does.  It's  not  pleasant  to  have 
in  close  proximity  one  who  isn't  what  is  called 
just  normal.  I  think  she  is  much  better  cared  for 
as  she  is  and  in  her  own  home.  You'll  admit  it 
would  be  very  unpleasant  if  she  lived  here,  and 


194  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

appeared  before  guests  in  one  of  her  unnatural 
moods." 

"  But  she  is  lonely,"  persisted  the  boy,  sticking 
to  the  one  line  of  thought  that  had  remained  with 
him  all  afternoon,  and  had  aroused  his  mind  to 
dwell  insistently  upon  his  grandmother.  "  You 
don't  mind,  mother,  do  you,  then  since  she  can't 
come  here,  if  I  go  to  see  her  often?  "  He  hesi- 
tated before  continuing:  "  Father  told  me  he 
wished  I  would,  as  he  hasn't  the  time  to  do  so." 

"  Of  course,  you  may  go  to  see  her,  Graham, 
if  you  like.  I  didn't  know  you  cared  so  much." 

She  rose  from  the  bed  and  walked  away  to  the 
window,  looking  through  its  leaded  panes  to  where 
she  knew  lay  the  broad  road  leading  out  into 
the  country  with  farm  houses  and  plowed  fields. 
After  a  moment  she  turned  to  gaze  at  the  little 
lad  who  still  sat  up  in  his  bed;  who  still  regarded 
her  with  wide  eyes  very  much  like  her  own,  but 
holding  a  depth  and  a  promise  that  hers  did  not 
seem  to  hold. 

"  Perhaps  it's  not  the  proper  time  to  tell  you 
now,  Graham,"  she  said,  "  but  I  think  I  might  as 
well  do  so.  I'm  making  arrangements  to  leave  for 
Italy  some  time  soon." 

'  To  be  gone  long,  mother?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Well,  for  three  months  anyway.     I  met  some 


MRS.  GRAHAM  WOODS  BARTLETT     195 

interesting  people  there  on  my  last  trip  and  they 
have  invited  me  to  pay  them  a  prolonged  visit," 
she  said. 

Graham  did  not  answer  at  first.  Then:  "I 
suppose  you'd  better  go  downstairs  now,  mother," 
he  said. 

His  mother  left  the  window.  Passing  the  bed 
she  once  more  paused  and  looked  down  at  him. 

"  Well,  little  son,"  she  said  at  last,  "  good 
night.  I've  been  up  here  an  outrageous  time." 
She  put  her  arms  around  his  small  shoulders  and 
drew  him  to  her. 

But  for  the  first  time  in  his  short  life  she  felt 
no  response  in  her  child.  Indeed,  she  recognized 
his  withdrawal  from  her,  more  poignant  in  its 
effect  upon  her  because  it  was  unconscious  on  his 
part.  In  that  one  moment  the  instinct  of  mother- 
hood leapt  full  within  her,  a  sudden  bewildering 
emotion,  totally  new  to  her  in  its  aliveness,  its 
vividness.  And  then  cold  truth  swept  in  on  her 
that  by  some  act  she  had  wiped  from  his  young 
heart  in  one  moment  his  ideal  of  her. 

She  sank  on  her  knees  beside  his  bed,  realiz- 
ing dimly  how  great  a  crown  his  love  had  been. 
After  an  appreciable  length  of  time,  his  hand 
crept  out  and  rested  a  second  lightly  on  her  arm, 
and  at  the  touch  she  raised  her  head.  "  I've  dis- 


196  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

appointed  you,  Graham,"  she  said.  He  did  not 
answer.  She  waited,  and  then  as  he  was  still 
silent  she  rose.  She  shook  her  unwonted  mood 
from  her  and  her  face  hardened  into  its  habitual 
brilliance. 

"  Good   night,   Graham,"   she   said  and  went 
away. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  STRAY  DOG 

MISS  SMITHSON  had  had  years  of  expe- 
rience with  children.  She  knew  their 
sensitiveness,  their  capacity  for  suffering  through 
those  incidents  which  adults  term  trifles. 

She  had  questioned  Suzanna  with  much  adroit 
delicacy  concerning  the  shoes,  and  had  elicited  the 
story  of  the  father's  purchase.  Though  she  read 
correctly  the  child's  real  shrinking  from  the 
thought  of  being  the  cynosure  of  many  amused 
eyes,  she  felt  herself  helpless. 

That  one  odd  pair  of  shoes  in  the  company 
of  participating  children!  In  imagination  Miss 
Smithson  visualized  the  unsuccessful  efforts  of 
their  owner  to  hide  them,  to  find  her  place  in 
the  background.  The  kind-hearted  teacher  really 
suffered  in  her  anticipation  of  Suzanna's  pain. 

So  when  the  great  night  arrived  and  the  music 
sounded  the  .approach  of  the  Indian  maidens, 
Miss  Smithson,  sitting  in  the  front  row  beside 
Suzanna's  parents,  kept  her  eyes  steadfastly  low- 
ered. At  length,  not  hearing  the  expected  titters 

197 


198  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

from  children  in  the  audience,  she  found  her  cour- 
age and  looked  up.  Her  eyes  were  immediately 
drawn  to  Suzanna's  face  and  rested  there. 

For  pictured  there  in  place  of  depression,  self- 
pity,  troubling  self-consciousness,  she  found  spar- 
kle and  joy.  Miss  Smithson  gasped  in  astonish- 
ment and  relief.  With  perfect  abandon  Suzanna 
moved  through  the  dance;  she  seemed  as  one  quite 
set  apart  from  her  companions;  and  so  she  was. 

All  that  Drusilla  had  told  her  lived  with  her, 
inspiring  her,  lifting  her  beyond  mere  mortals. 
She  might  have  been  frolicing  upon  a  cloud  in 
her  little  bare  feet,  so  far  away  from  her  con- 
sciousness was  the  thought  of  the  shoes. 

The  dance  ended,  and  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
heart  beating  happily,  Suzanna  took  her  seat. 
The  applause  lasted  a  long  time. 

Then  came  a  recitation  and  a  piano  solo  given 
by  a  greatly  embarrassed  boy,  though  certainly  a 
greatly  talented  one.  Suzanna  recognizing  his 
anguish  felt  very  sorry  for  him.  She  wished  he 
had  had  a  Drusilla  to  advise  him,  to  make  him 
see  that  he  was  for  the  time  greater  than  his 
audience.  That  he  had  music  in  his  soul.  She 
understood  now  that  the  greatest  gift  was  to  for- 
get yourself  and  love  your  art  so  much  that  it 
reigned  supreme. 


THE  STRAY  DOG  199 

Then  looking  out  at  the  people  seated  before 
her,  she  recognized  that  they  were  kind.  That 
they  had  come  not  to  criticize,  but  to  enjoy  and 
to  acclaim.  She  felt  growing  within  her  heart  a 
great  love  for  all  humanity. 

Her  eyes  sought  out  her  father's.  Just  in  front 
he  sat,  looking  up  at  her,  his  eyes  filled  with 
pride.  She  had  made  him  happy.  Her  heart 
was  very  full. 

Her  eyes  after  a  time  went  again  over  the 
audience.  And  behind  her  father  sat  a  boy,  the 
one  she  had  seen  at  Drusilla's.  His  eyes  seemed 
to  be  searching  her  face.  She  smiled  at  him  and 
he  smiled  in  return. 

The  evening  was  over.  Suzanna  was  down  in 
the  audience.  "  Did  you  like  the  dance,  daddy?  " 
she  asked. 

"  It  was  beautiful,"  he  answered  with  gratify- 
ing response.  "  I  was  very  proud  of  my  little 
girl  —  and  the  shoes  —  I  was  so  glad  you  could 
have  them  —  they  were  the  prettiest  in  the  drill." 

"  I  think  they  were,  too,"  Suzanna  answered, 
with  real  truth. 

Out  in  the  street  she  saw  the  boy.  He  was 
standing  near  the  gate  of  the  school  yard,  by  his 
side  a  tall,  dark  young  man. 

"  How  do  you  do?  "  said  Suzanna. 


200  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

He  snatched  his  hat  from  his  head.  "  Oh,  I 
liked  your  dance,"  he  said.  "  This  is  my  tutor," 
he  finished. 

"  How  do  you  do,"  said  Suzanna  politely  to 
the  young  man.  She  wondered  what  a  tutor  was. 
Then  to  the  boy:  "  Brasilia's  your  grandmother, 
isn't  she?" 

"Yes;  do  you  live  in  this  town?" 

"  Yes,  right  down  that  road.  Your  big  house 
was  closed  for  three  years,  wasn't  it  —  since  I 
was  a  little  girl  of  five.  That's  why  we  haven't 
seen  one  another,  I  suppose."  Then:  "  How  did 
you  think  of  coming  to  the  Indian  Drill?  " 

"  Why,  one  of  the  school  trustees  had  to  see 
my  father  on  business  and  he  spoke  about  the 
entertainment.  I  thought  I'd  like  to  see  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  came.    Good-bye." 

A  carriage  drew  up.  The  boy  and  his  compan- 
ion stepped  into  it  and  were  driven  off. 

"  That's  young  Graham  Woods  Bartlett,"  said 
Mrs.  Procter  as  they  started  home.  "  They  live 
in  the  big  house  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  This  is 
the  first  time  it's  been  open  for  some  years." 

"  And  Brasilia's  his  grandmother,"  said  Su- 
zanna. "  He's  an  awful  nice  boy." 

"  His  father  and  old  John  Massey  are  busi- 
ness associates,"  put  in  Mr.  Procter. 


THE  STRAY  DOG  201 

"  Such  a  fine  big  house  to  be  occupied  only  a 
few  months  of  the  year,  and  then  not  every  year," 
put  in  Mrs.  Procter.  "  And  they  rarely  stay  so 
late  in  the  season  as  they're  staying  this  year  — 
way  into  October." 

"  I'll  take  Maizie  and  Peter  and  go  and  see 
him  tomorrow,"  said  Suzanna. 

"  Oh,  Suzanna,  I  don't  believe  — "  began 
Mrs.  Procter.  Then  sensing  immediately  that 
her  small  daughter  would  be  totally  unable  to 
understand  social  distinctions,  she  did  not  finish 
her  sentence. 

So  it  was  that  the  next  afternoon  right  after 
school,  Suzanna,  who  never  lost  time  in  carry- 
ing out  a  resolve,  prepared  for  her  visit. 

"I  wonder  where  Peter  is?"  Mrs.  Procter 
asked. 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  mother's  question,  Peter 
opened  the  kitchen  door.  He  wore  primarily  a 
guilty  expression.  His  hat  was  on  one  side  of 
his  head,  the  suit  which  two  seasons  before  he 
had  outgrown,  was  short  in  the  legs,  tight  as  to 
chest,  and  there  was  a  very  symphony  of  entreaty 
in  his  eyes.  By  a  frayed  string  he  held  a  stray 
dog,  the  fourth  one  since  spring. 

Mrs.  Procter  looked  at  him  sternly.  As  moth- 
ers do,  she  took  in  with  one  glance  Peter's  prayer- 


202  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

ful  attitude  and  the  appealing  one  of  the  shrink- 
ing animal. 

"  You  take  that  dog  right  away  and  lose  it !  " 
she  commanded. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  began  the  small  boy  entering 
the  kitchen,  the  dog  perforce  entering  also.  "  He 
followed  me  all  the  way  home  and  we're  awful 
good  friends  already.  Can't  he  stay?  " 

"  Not  one  minute,"  returned  Mrs.  Procter. 
She  regarded  the  animal  scornfully.  "  He's  not 
anybody's  dog,"  she  said.  "  He's  simply  a  stray, 
and  I'm  tired  of  feeding  every  stray  dog  that 
comes  into  the  neighborhood." 

Peter  turned  reluctantly  away.  "  He'll  be 
awful  lonely  out  there,"  he  said,  "  and  he's  hun- 
gry, too.  No  lady  ever  thinks  a  dog  eats.  Can't 
I  give  him  a  bone  or  something  before  I  turn  him 
loose?" 

"  Take  him  out  on  the  back  porch  and  give 
him  that  soup  bone  left  from  supper  last  night. 
And  then  I  don't  want  to  see  him  again.  Now, 
Peter,  this  time  I  mean  it." 

Peter  made  one  last  effort.  "  He's  a  fine 
breed,  his  roof  is  black,"  he  said.  "  He'd  make 
an  awful  good  watch  dog." 

"  Well,  we  really  don't  need  a  watch  dog," 
his  mother  answered,  and  half  smiled. 


THE  STRAY  DOG  203 

Maizie,  advancing  from  the  dining-room, 
stared  at  the  intruder  on  his  way  out. 

"  Oh,  but  this  dog  has  hair,  mother,"  she  cried. 
"  You  remember  one  of  the  others  hadn't." 

"  Hair,  or  no  hair,"  Mrs.  Procter  returned 
determinedly,  "  that  dog  is  not  going  to  stay  in 
this  house.  I've  had  enough  of  stray  animals 
to  last  me  for  quite  awhile." 

Peter  stood  holding  the  rope  and  still  looking 
at  his  mother.  But  his  hopeful  expression, 
brought  on  by  Maizie's  words,  was  fast  ebbing. 

"  Hurry  up,"  said  Mrs.  Procter.  "  Take  him 
away." 

"  Can't  he  stay  for  one  night,  mother?  " 

Suzanna,  silent  during  the  colloquy,  now  spoke. 

"  Maybe  we  can  find  another  home  for  him, 
Peter.  We  were  just  going  over  to  Graham 
Bartlett's,  and  perhaps  he'd  keep  the  dog.  We'll 
ask  his  mother,"  she  said. 

Peter  brightened  a  trifle  at  that.  He  really 
wanted  more  than  anything  in  the  world  to  keep 
that  friendly  dog.  But  if  he  was  not  to  be 
allowed  to  do  so,  finding  a  good  home  for  it 
was  the  next  best  thing. 

So  away  the  children  started.  It  was  a  long 
walk,  but  the  October  day  was  cool  and  exhila- 
rating. The  children  kicked  the  fallen  leaves  be- 


204  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

fore  them,  and  once  Peter  gave  chase  to  his  dog. 
Maizie  sang  little  tunes,  and  Suzanna  felt  new 
wonderments  rising  within  her  at  the  beauty  of 
the  world. 

They  came  at  last  to  the  Bartlett  home,  but 
no  one  was  about,  only  several  carriages  stood  in 
the  road.  Suzanna  swung  the  big  gate  wide  and 
with  the  children  following  her,  and  the  dog  held 
in  Peter's  firm  grasp,  she  came  to  the  house, 
mounted  the  steps  and  seeing  the  carved  front 
door  wide  open,  they  all  walked  in.  In  the  empty 
hall  with  the  high  ceilings  they  stood  a  moment 
embarrassed. 

From  a  side  room  came  sounds  of  laughter 
and  soft  voices.  Suzanna  turned.  Heavy  Per- 
sian rugs  hung  at  the  entrance  to  this  room  and 
Suzanna  hesitated  one  moment.  She  wished 
someone  were  about  to  direct  her.  But  alas,  at 
this  critical  moment  the  hallman  had  escaped 
kitchenward.  It  was  Mrs.  Graham  Woods  Bart- 
lett's  at-home  day,  and  the  function  in  full  blast, 
and  as  his  services  might  not  be  required  for  per- 
haps half  an  hour  he  had  flown,  believing  discovery 
could  not  fall  upon  him. 

So  Suzanna,  Maizie,  Peter  and  the  dog  stepped 
within  the  gorgeous  room. 

Soft  music  came  enchantingly  from  a  hidden 


THE  STRAY  DOG  205 

orchestra,  ladies  beautifully  gowned  and  be- 
jeweled  stood  about  in  graceful  postures.  Mrs. 
Graham  Woods  Bartlett  attired  in  a  flame-col- 
ored velvet  gown  with  a  wonderful  satin-lined 
train  hanging  straight  from  her  shoulders,  stood 
near  a  table  at  which  two  very  pretty  girls  were 
serving  little  cups  of  tea  and  dainty  cakes. 

Suzanna,  Maizie,  and  Peter  holding  tight  the 
frayed  rope  with  the  hungry-looking  dog  on  one 
end,  gazed  awe  stricken  at  the  fairylike  scene. 
At  length  Mrs.  Graham  Woods  Bartlett  turned 
and  beheld  her  late  guests. 

The  children  stood  irresolute;  some  expression 
in  Mrs.  Bartlett's  face  halted  their  advance. 
That  look  made  Suzanna  strangely  self-conscious. 
Maizie  was  undeniably  shy,  and  Peter  with  dread 
at  his  heart  for  fear  Jerry  (a  quickly  bestowed 
name  that  the  dog  had  learned  immediately  to 
answer  to)  might  not  act  in  a  gentlemanly  fash- 
ion when  he  should  pass  the  tea  table.  With  all 
these  different  emotions  in  their  hearts,  the  chil- 
dren finally  started  across  the  beautiful  room. 
The  ladies  fell  back  from  the  dog  lest  in  his  pas- 
sage he  might  touch  their  gowns,  and  all  gazed 
in  wonder  at  the  small  cavalcade.  When  at  last 
the  children  stood  before  Mrs.  Graham  Woods 
Bartlett,  Suzanna  spoke,  broke  into  the  dead 


206  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

silence  of  the  room,  for  even  the  orchestra  had 
stopped  its  music. 

"  We  thought  you  might  like  a  dog,"  began 
Suzanna.  "  He's  a  very  nice  dog  and  very  lov- 
ing, although  if  I'm  to  be  honest,  I  can't  say  he's 
a  good-looking  dog."  She  felt  her  courage  ebb- 
ing at  the  icy  stillness  which  greeted  her  state- 
ment. 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Graham  Woods  Bart- 
lett  remained  speechless,  and  as  the  dog  once  had 
looked  at  Mrs.  Procter,  so  he  looked  imploringly 
at  her  who  might  eventually  be  his  new  mistress. 
Little  Maizie,  moved  to  a  show  of  bravery  for 
Peter's  sake,  spoke  up: 

"  We've  only  got  a  little  house,  and  you've 
got  a  big  one,  so  we  thought  you  wouldn't  mind." 

"  And,"  concluded  Peter,  "  he  really  is  a  fine 
dog.  You  can  buy  a  nice  collar  for  him  and 
maybe  cut  his  tail — "  Mrs.  Graham  Woods 
Bartlett  made  a  little  wry  face  —  "  and  you'd  be 
surprised  to  see  how  elegant  he'll  look." 

A  laugh  rang  out  from  one  end  of  the  room. 
It  came  from  a  fine-looking  old  lady  who  stood 
near  the  window  surrounded,  it  would  seem  by 
admiring  satellites,  and  at  the  little  musical  sound 
Mrs.  Graham  Woods  Bartlett's  face  cleared  mag- 
ically, for  the  stately  old  lady  was  a  very  impor- 


We  thought  you  might  like  a  dog,"  began  Suzanna 


THE  STRAY  DOG  207 


tant  personage  to  all  present,  envied  usually  too, 
and  if  this  little  incident  seemed  to  amuse  her 
then  the  matter  was  beautifully  altered.  So 
Mrs.  Graham  Woods  Bartlett  found  her  voice. 
"  Go  out  into  the  grounds  and  see  the  gardener. 
If  he  can  find  a  place  for  the  animal,  let  him 
keep  it." 

The  children  felt  themselves  dismissed.  On 
the  way  out  Suzanna  kept  her  gaze  quite  away 
from  the  table  with  its  alluring  load  of  dainties. 
But  Maizie  paused  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  a 
second  and  let  her  eyes  stray  over  the  fascinating 
cakes,  the  glasses  of  pink  ices,  and  the  Maras- 
chino cherries  and  nuts  and  white  candies.  But 
it  was  Peter  who  neither  looked  aside  nor  paused, 
but  as  he  went  by  the  table  he  addressed  the 
ceiling. 

"  My  dog 's  very  fond  of  cakes,"  he  said. 
"  But  mother  says  dogs  can  do  without  cakes, 
especially  stray  dogs." 

One  of  the  pretty  girls  laughed  merrily,  and 
sweeping  from  a  silver  plate  a  handful  of  cakes 
she  thrust  them  into  Peter's  hands.  "  Thank 
you,"  he  said  simply.  And  then  the  children  left 
with  the  dog  gamboling  in  expectancy  behind  his 
small  master.  He  knew  well  the  cakes  were  for 
him. 


208  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Out  in  the  grounds  they  met  Graham.  He  had 
been  to  the  stables  to  look  at  his  pony,  a  new  gift 
from  his  father.  He  paused  astonished  at  sight 
of  the  children. 

"  Oh,  Graham,"  Suzanna  cried  at  sight  of  him, 
"  your  mother  said  we  should  see  the  gardener 
about  this  dog.  She  thought  he'd  like  to  have 
him." 

Graham,  though  startled,  asked  no  questions. 

"  I  guess  it's  David  mother  means,"  he  said. 
"  Wait  here  and  I'll  see  if  he's  in  the  back  gar- 
den." 

After  Graham  had  gone  Peter  began  to  con- 
jecture. "  If  David  won't  take  Jerry,"  he  said, 
"what'llwedo?" 

"  You'll  have  to  take  him  out  and  lose  him 
then,"  said  Maizie  calmly. 

Peter  turned  a  considering  eye  upon  her.  He 
couldn't  understand  her.  Quite  as  a  matter  of 
course  she  suggested  his  taking  the  dog  out  on 
some  prairie  and  turning  it  loose,  to  know  hun- 
ger, and  perhaps  abuse.  And  yet,  he  had  seen 
this  same  tender-hearted  little  Maizie  crying  be- 
cause a  spider  had  been  swept  down  from  the 
porch.  No,  in  his  boyish  soul  he  decided  that 
should  he  live  a  thousand  years,  he  never  would 
understand  women  with  their  inconsistencies  and 


THE  STRAY  DOG  209 

their  peculiar  viewpoints.  Their  tendernesses  in 
one  direction  and  their  complacent  cruelties  in 
others. 

"  Let's  go  and  sit  on  the  steps  of  that  cottage," 
said  Suzanna,  pointing  to  a  small  house  at  the 
foot  of  the  side  garden.  Maizie  consented,  but 
Peter  preferred  not  to  move.  He  wished  to  stay 
with  his  dog  as  long  as  possible.  In  the  cottage 
might  be  a  lady  who  would  look  with  the  same 
horror-stricken  eyes  upon  his  friend  as  had  Mrs. 
Graham  Woods  Bartlett. 

So  Suzanna  and  Maizie  left  him  with  his  dog. 
They  had  just  ensconced  themselves  comfortably 
on  the  steps  of  the  cottage  when  a  distressing 
accent  struck  upon  their  ears,  and  simultaneously 
they  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  sound. 
There  on  a  tiny  verandah,  almost  hidden  behind 
a  large  fern  growth,  a  little  girl  sat  on  a  low 
chair  crying  softly  and  pathetically  as  though  her 
small  heart  were  broken.  The  children  stood  for 
a  moment  not  knowing  just  what  to  do.  Then 
Maizie,  the  same  one,  thought  Peter  satirically 
(he  could  see  all  that  went  on  from  his  place 
beyond)  who  had  suggested  his  losing  his  dog 
on  a  prairie,  went  to  the  pathetic  figure  and  sitting 
beside  it  said  in  a  tremulous  low  voice,  full  of 
sympathy  and  pity : 


210  SUZANNA   STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"What's  the  matter,  little  girl?" 

The  one  thus  addressed  took  her  hands  down 
from  her  face  and  looked  around  at  her  ques- 
tioner. Her  eyes  were  dark,  with  black  lashes, 
and  she  had  wonderful,  curly  hair.  When  she 
had  finished  looking  at  Maizie,  which  was  a  long 
moment,  she  put  her  hand  behind  her  and  pro- 
duced a  doll,  sadly  deficient  as  to  features.  In- 
deed, noseless,  entirely,  and  with  one  eye  gone. 
But  in  a  very  fever  of  love,  she  held  it  to  her. 

"  Are  you  crying  because  your  doll  is  broken?  " 
asked  Suzanna,  now  coming  a  little  closer  and 
standing  straight  and  slim  before  the  child. 

"  No,  she's  not  broken,"  said  the  little  girl, 
"  but  she's  got  the  whooping  cough  and  she  keeps 
my  father  awake  nights  coughing." 

Suzanna  instantly  responded.  "  Oh,  that's  too 
bad,"  she  said.  "  Can't  your  mother  fix  her  some 
flaxseed  tea?  " 

Now  down  once  more  went  the  little  girl's  head 
upon  her  knee,  and  once  more  she  was  shaking 
with  sobs.  And  at  this  .moment  young  Graham 
returned  and  in  his  wake,  David. 

"  David  says,"  began  Graham  cheerfully  to 
Suzanna  and  Maizie,  "  that  he  can  find  room  for 
an  extra  dog,  so  you  may  leave  yours.  Where's 
your  brother?  " 


THE  STRAY  DOG  211 

"  He   is   right   over   there,"    pointed    Maizie. 

Then  the  gardener's  glance  fell  upon  the  little 
girl,  with  her  head  bent  as  she  still  wept. 

"  She's  crying  awfully  hard,"  said  Suzanna  to 
the  gardener.  "  Do  you  know  whose  little  girl 
she  is?" 

"  She's  mine,"  said  the  man  with  a  big  world 
of  tenderness  in  his  voice.  "  She's  my  little 
Daphne." 

"  We  thought  she  was  crying  because  her  doll 
was  broken,"  said  Suzanna.  "  Then  she  said  it 
had  the  whooping  cough  and  kept  you  awake  all 
night  and  I  asked  her  why  her  mother  didn't 
make  some  flaxseed  tea  for  it." 

A  swift  shadow  darkened  David's  fine  face 
and  he  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Then  he 
went  to  the  little  girl  and  raised  her  as  though 
she  were  one  of  his  carefully  cherished  flowers. 
Her  sobs  ceased  as  she  found  herself  in  her 
father's  arms. 

"  You  see,"  said  her  father,  "  she  has  no 
mother!  " 

Now  the  children  knew  by  his  tone  and  by 
the  extreme  sadness  in  his  eyes  that  the  little 
Daphne's  mother  had  gone  away  never  to  return. 
And  they  knew  it  must  be  the  saddest  thing  in 
the  world  to  be  without  a  mother;  one  who  was 


212  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

always  ready  to  understand  even  if  you  had  to 
wait  till  the  baby  was  hushed,  or  the  bread  looked 
at  in  the  oven.  The  understanding  did  come, 
sure  and  tender;  a  mother  who  sometimes  smiled 
at  you  in  that  complete,  deep  way,  as  Suzanna's 
mother  had  smiled  at  her  the  day  she  wore  her 
leghorn  hat  with  the  daisies. 

"  Can  Daphne  play  with  us?"  asked  Suzanna 
after  awhile.  "  And  can  we  take  her  home  to 
see  our  mother?  " 

The  man's  face  brightened  at  this.  "  Why, 
that  will  be  fine,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  you'd  like 
to  play  here  in  the  grounds  for  awhile.  Then 
Daphne  can  go  home  with  you.  You're  the  Proc- 
ter children,  aren't  you?  I've  talked  often  with 
your  father  when  I've  bought  things  in  the  hard- 
ware shop.  I'm  coming  sometime  to  see  his  ma- 
chine." 

"  Yes,"  said  Suzanna,  u  but  how  did  you  know 
we  were  the  Procter  children?  We  didn't  tell 
you  our  name.  Did  Graham?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  man,  "  but  you're  the  living 
image  of  your  father.  You  look  at  a  person  just 
like  he  does,  out  of  your  big  dark  eyes." 

Suzanna  flushed.  There  was  nothing  in  all  the 
world  she  so  loved  to  hear  as  that  she  looked 
like  her  father. 


THE  STRAY  DOG  213 

Little  Daphne  had  ceased  crying  and  her  father 
carried  her  up  the  narrow  winding  stairs  to  their 
own  quarters.  Shortly  he  returned  again.  The 
little  girl  now  wore  a  pretty  lace-trimmed  bon- 
net mother-made,  one  knew  at  once,  and  a  little 
white  cape.  She  was  a  very  charming  and  quaint 
figure. 

u  I  think,  daddy,"  she  said,  "  I'd  like  to  go 
home  right  away  and  see  the  little  girl's  mother." 

He  turned  his  head  away  again  for  a  moment, 
but  he  managed  at  last  to  meet  his  little  daugh- 
ter's eyes  with  a  smile. 

"  Run  along,  sweet,"  he  said. 

"Can  she  stay  to  supper  with  us?"  asked 
Suzanna. 

"  If  your  mother  would  like  to  have  her,"  said 
the  man.  "  And  I'll  come  up  later  for  her." 

"  All  right,"  replied  Suzanna. 

Now  came  the  hard  moment  for  Peter,  in  the 
parting  from  his  dog.  He  came  reluctantly  for- 
ward. 

Graham,  seeing  Peter's  distress  when  the  ani- 
mal had  been  delivered  into  David's  care,  said: 
"  You  can  come  up  here  often,  Peter,  and  see  the 
dog.  I  know  it's  awful  hard  giving  him  up." 

Peter's  heart  was  touched.  Here  at  last  was 
one  who  understood!  Here  at  last  was  one  who 


214  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

would  not  condemn  a  dog  merely  because  he  had 
an  unnaturally  big  appetite ;  because  he  got  around 
under  people's  feet  and  had  no  manners. 

'  You're  a  very  nice  boy,"  said  Suzanna  when 
they  were  parting,  "  and  we  wish  you  would  come 
to  see  us." 

Graham's  face  lit.  "  Oh,  I  will  come.  Do  you 
live  in  that  little  cottage  with  the  crooked  chim- 
ney?" 

'  Yes,"  said  Suzanna.  "  Come  soon,  won't 
you?" 

Graham  promised  he  would  do  so. 

As  the  Procter  children  went  down  the  road, 
Graham  watched  them,  but  his  gaze  presently 
concentrated  itself  on  Suzanna,  who  was  leading 
the  small  Daphne. 

"  I  like  Suzanna,"  thought  Graham.  "  I  like 
to  see  her  flush  up  like  a  rose  when  she  speaks." 
Which  was  a  poetical  observation  for  a  boy  of 
twelve. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  LENT  MOTHER 

MRS.  PROCTER  was  in  the  dining-room 
arranging  the  shelves  of  her  small  side- 
board when  she  heard  sounds  betokening  the  chil- 
dren's return. 

They  entered  the  dining-room,  Suzanna  lead- 
ing a  small  stranger  by  the  hand,  Maizie  and 
Peter  behind. 

"  Mother,"  began  Suzanna  at  once,  "  David, 
the  gardener,  took  the  dog  and  we  brought  this 
little  girl  home  to  see  you." 

Mrs.  Procter  looked  questioningly  at  Daphne, 
who  stood  close  to  Suzanna's  protecting  arm. 

"  Stay  with  Maizie  a  moment,  Daphne,"  said 
Suzanna,  "  while  I  tell  my  mother  something." 
Daphne  smiled  and  did  as  she  was  told,  and 
Suzanna  went  close  to  Mrs.  Procter.  In  a  low 
tone  she  said:  "  Daphne's  mother  went  far  away 
awhile  ago,  and  I'm  telling  this  to  you  in  a  low 
voice  because  Daphne  cried  when  we  asked  her 
where  her  mother  was.  I  brought  her  home  so 
she  could  remember  how  beautiful  a  mother  is." 

215 


216  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

In  an  instant  the  tears  sprang  to  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter's eyes.  She  went  quickly  to  Daphne,  and 
lifted  the  little  girl. 

"  Sit  down  in  a  rocking  chair  with  her,"  said 
Suzanna,  "  and  hold  her  close  up  to  you.  And 
then  when  she's  cuddled  down,  look  at  her  like 
you  do  at  our  babies." 

Mrs.  Procter  obeyed.  Daphne  nestled  close. 
"  Her  father  knows  my  father,  Mrs.  Procter," 
said  Suzanna. 

Mrs.  Procter  looked  up  quickly  at  this  new 
mode  of  address.  Suzanna  explained. 

"  Daphne,"  she  said,  going  close  and  looking 
down  at  the  contented  little  face,  "  I'm  giving  you 
a  share  in  my  mother  while  you're  here  today. 
I  give  over  the  part  I  own  in  her  to  you,  and  I 
shall  call  her  Mrs.  Procter  whenever  you  visit  us." 

"  But  you  can't  give  away  even  your  part  in 
your  very  own  mother,"  protested  Maizie. 

"  But  I  have  done  so,  haven't  I?  " 

"Does  just  saying  so  make  a  thing  true?" 
Maizie  asked. 

"  If  you  say  so  and  live  up  to  it,"  Suzanna 
returned. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  said  Maizie,  "  mother's  not 
cuddling  Daphne  because  she  wants  to;  only  be- 
cause she's  sorry  for  her." 


A  LENT  MOTHER  217 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Mrs.  Procter. 
"  I  like  little  Daphne,  too,  and  I'm  glad  she's 
come  to  visit  us." 

"  But  you  know,  mother,"  said  Maizie,  "  you 
only  find  time  to  cuddle  your  own  babies.  And 
you  stop  just  as  soon  as  they  can  walk  around." 

"  Mrs.  Procter  cuddles  all  children  in  her 
heart,"  said  Suzanna  loyally.  "  She'd  wear  her 
arms  out  if  she  cuddled  all  of  us  all  the  time." 

Maizie  didn't  answer  that.  But  when  little 
Daphne  finally  left  Mrs.  Procter's  sheltering 
clasp  and  went  away  to  play  with  the  children, 
Maizie  still  hovered  about  her  mother. 

"  Mother,"  she  said  at  last,  "  did  you  like  to 
hold  Daphne  close  up  to  you?  " 

Now  mothers  are  very  wonderful  beings,  and 
with  no  further  word  from  Maizie,  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter understood  the  child's  unspoken  wish.  In  a 
moment  Maizie  was  held  close  to  her  mother's 
breast,  and  was  looking  up  into  her  mother's  ten- 
der eyes.  And  the  mother  was  thinking.  Was 
mother  love  selfish  then  in  its  inclusion?  Weren't 
there  little  ones  outside  hungering  for  cuddling? 
How  children  went  to  the  heart  of  things !  She 
thought  suddenly  and  perhaps  irrelevantly  of  her 
husband's  invention  upon  which  he  poured  his 
heart's  best  treasures.  And  yet  not  once  had  he 


218  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  flRE 

ever  mentioned  the  money  which  might  be  his 
did  success  attend  it.  Only  the  good  to  others. 
His  seemed  a  wide  vision.  She  sighed.  It  was 
hard  to  find  strength  enough,  time  enough  to  go 
outside  one's  home  doing  good.  "  Well,  at 
least,"  she  thought  with  a  sudden  uplift,  "  I'll 
adopt  little  Daphne  into  our  home  circle." 

When  Mr.  Procter  arrived  home  for  supper 
he  found,  playing  happily  about,  the  little  addi- 
tion to  his  family.  Suzanna  took  her  father  off 
to  one  corner  to  explain  all  about  Daphne. 

"  And  so  I've  given  my  share  in  mother  to 
Daphne  whenever  she  visits  us,"  concluded 
Suzanna. 

Mr.  Procter  smiled  and  touched  Suzanna's 
dark  hair.  Later  he  arranged  a  chair  so  Daphne 
might  be  comfortable  at  the  supper  table.  A 
book  and  a  cushion  brought  that  state  of  comfort 
about,  and  the  child  was  very  happy.  She  was, 
for  the  time  being,  a  member  of  an  interesting 
family,  everyone  trying  his  best  to  entertain  her. 
Even  Peter  forgot  the  loss  of  his  dog  and  said 
some  funny  things  which  made  Daphne  laugh. 

After  supper  David  called  for  his  little  daugh- 
ter. Daphne  cried  out  joyfully  as  he  entered. 

"  Oh,  I've  had  such  a  good  time,  Daddy 
David,"  she  exclaimed. 


A  LENT  MOTHER  219 

He  lifted  her  to  his  shoulder,  then  gazed  about 
the  little  family  circle.  His  eyes  lingered  on  Mrs. 
Procter. 

"  You've  been  good  to  Daphne,  I  know,"  he 
said  simply.  "  And  so  good  night." 

"  While  you're  here,  David,"  said  Mr.  Proc- 
ter, "  I'll  show  you  my  invention." 

"  Fine!  "  David  said;  he  swung  the  little  girl 
from  his  shoulder.  "  I'd  like  to  see  that  ma- 
chine." 

So  they  all  went  upstairs  to  the  attic.  The 
machine  stood  brooding  in  its  peace. 

Mr.  Procter  lit  a  lamp.  Its  glow  fell  softly 
upon  the  little  group. 

"  Old  John  Massey  came  into  the  shop  today," 
said  Mr.  Procter.  "  He  promised  to  come  in  and 
see  the  machine  tomorrow." 

"  Does  he  know  its  object?  "  asked  David. 

"  No,  there's  been  no  chance  to  tell  him." 

"Why  is  he  interested,  then?"  asked  David. 
"  Has  his  commercial  instinct  been  aroused?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  not,"  said  the  inventor,  "  I've  not 
spoken  to  him  about  that  part  of  it,  only  told 
him  a  great  chance  was  his  if  he  became  inter- 
ested in  the  machine." 

"  Someone's  ringing  the  bell.  Run  down, 
Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Procter. 


220  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Peter  went  down  and  returned  at  once  with  a 
note. 

"  A  man  with  brass  buttons  brought  it,"  he 
said.  "  It's  for  father." 

Mr.  Procter  tore  open  the  letter. 

"  Well,  that's  decent  of  John  Massey  to  let  me 
know,"  he  said.  "  He's  ill  and  will  be  unable  to 
come  here  tomorrow." 

"  Yes,  very  decent  for  old  John  Massey,"  said 
David.  "  Well,  I  must  be  off.  And  we'll  come 
again  soon,  if  we  may." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SUZANNA  AIDS  CUPID 

'TV  /T OTHER  dear,"  asked  Suzanna  one  day. 

1VJL  "  if  the  Eagle  Man's  sick,  don't  you 
think  I  ought  to  go  and  see  him?  " 

Mrs.  Procter  hesitated.  She  looked  into  the 
earnest  dark  eyes  raised  to  hers.  "  Well,  dear, 
perhaps  it  would  be  kind,"  she  said. 

"  I  ought  to  take  him  some  flowers,"  Suzanna 
pursued. 

The  time  was  early  morning,  and  Mr.  Procter 
had  not  yet  departed  for  the  hardware  store. 

"  I  can't  think  where  you'll  get  flowers, 
Suzanna,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  there's  a  little  shaded  spot  in  a  field  I 
know  and  there's  some  daisies  there.  I'll  gather 
them  on  the  way  to  the  Eagle  Man." 

So  that  afternoon  after  school  Suzanna  admon- 
ished Maizie  to  be  quick  with  her  buttons  because 
she  and  the  baby  were  to  pay  a  call  on  the  Eagle 
Man. 

"  I  have  to  gather  the  daisies  for  him,  too," 
said  Suzanna. 

221 


222  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  I  don't  like  the  Eagle  Man  very  well,"  said 
Maizie;  "  I'm  afraid  of  him;  and  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  take  flowers  to  him.  He  has  plenty 
in  the  big  glass  house  in  his  yard." 

Suzanna  stopped  short.  "  You  don't  like  him 
after  he  gave  you  that  lovely  ride  in  the  summer, 
Maizie  Procter,  and  after  he's  interested  in  our 
father's  Machine?  I'm  'shamed  of  you.  You 
ought  to  like  everybody  Miss  Massey  says,  and 
flowers  in  his  glass  house  aren't  like  flowers  that 
are  a  present  from  somebody  else." 

Maizie  did  not  answer  this,  but  the  look  on 
her  face  indicated  some  defiance  of  Suzanna's 
attempted  direction  of  her  thoughts.  When  they 
were  ready,  they  called  good-bye  to  their  mother 
and  started  away.  Suzanna  pushed  the  cart  con- 
taining the  baby,  while  Maizie  walked  sedately 
beside  her. 

From  the  field  Suzanna  knew,  she  secured  a 
small  bunch  of  late  daisies  and  then  the  journey 
was  continued.  At  length  the  children  reached 
the  Massey  grounds.  Suzanna  pushed  open  the 
big  iron  gate  and  trundled  the  cart  into  the  gravel 
path.  The  ground  immediately  began  to  be 
slightly  hilly. 

"  You'd  better  help  me,  Maizie,"  said  Suzanna. 

"  How?  "  asked  Maizie  helplessly. 


SUZANNA   AIDS  CUPID  223 

"  Put  your  hands  on  my  back  and  push,"  said 
Suzanna. 

So  the  little  procession  formed  itself.  And  in 
this  wise  it  reached  the  top  of  the  hill.  The  house 
itself  lay  a  few  yards  in  front  of  them.  The  chil- 
dren paused  to  rest,  and  then  Suzanna,  looking 
around,  beheld  a  small  vine-covered  arbor,  and 
within,  just  visible  through  the  enshrouding  ivy, 
a  man  and  a  woman,  Miss  Massey  and  a  stranger. 

"How  do  you  do,  Suzanna?"  Miss  Massey 
said  when  she  found  herself  discovered.  "  Did 
you  want  to  see  me?  " 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  responded  Suzanna 
politely,  "  but  I  didn't  come  expressly  on  purpose 
to  look  at  you.  I  came  to  see  the  Eagle  Man." 

"  The  Eagle  Man?  "  asked  Miss  Massey,  puz- 
zled. 

"  He  walks  with  a  cane,"  put  in  Maizie,  "  and 
he  coughs  kind  of  hoarse  each  time  he  speaks." 

"  He's  your  father,"  said  Suzanna.  "  He  sits 
down  on  a  velvet  chair,  and  he  shouts,  and  he 
gets  red  in  the  face,  and  he  bangs  his  fist  on  the 
chair  when  a  little  man  doesn't  hurry  up,  though 
I  thought  he  went  very  fast.  He  did  all  that  the 
day  the  Sunday  School  pupils  came  to  your  party." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Massey,  a  smile  lighting 
her  face  at  the  vivid  description,  "  I  did  not  know 


224  SUZANNA   STIRS  THE  FIRE 

that  you  had  met  my  father,  but  I'm  afraid  you 
can't  see  him  today,  dear.    He's  not  well." 

'Yes,  I  know;  that's  why  I  came  to  see  him 
and  to  bring  him  these  flowers." 

Miss  Massey  was  a  little  puzzled.  How  did 
Suzanna  know  John  Massey  was  ill? 

"  Suppose  you  bring  the  baby  in  here,"  sug- 
gested the  man  who  was  sitting  next  to  Miss  Mas- 
sey, and  who  up  to  this  time  had  been  silent. 
"  And  after  awhile  Miss  Massey  can  find  out  if 
her  father  is  able  to  see  you." 

"  All  right,"  said  Suzanna  with  alacrity.  She 
started  to  lift  the  baby  from  his  carriage  when 
the  man  sprang  up  and  took  the  child  from  her. 
The  baby  smiled  and  won  his  way  at  once  to  the 
stranger's  heart. 

"  He's  sweet,  isn't  he?  "  began  Suzanna,  as  she 
entered  the  arbor,  Maizie  with  her.  Miss  Mas- 
sey drew  Maizie  within  the  circle  of  her  own  arm. 

"  He  is  that,"  said  the  man  earnestly, 
"  although  I  don't  know  very  much  about 
babies.  Does  he  cry  much?" 

"  Well,  he's  very  sinful  when  he's  hungry. 
He's  getting  better  now  because  he's  growing 
older,  but  he  used  to  shriek  till  his  face  got  red. 
Once  in  awhile  now  he  wants  what  he  wants  right 
away.  I  was  trying  once  to  learn  a  piece  of 


SUZANNA  AIDS  CUPID  225 

poetry,  and  he  suddenly  shrieked  and  I  had  to 
stop  everything  and  warm  his  milk.  I'm  only 
hoping  he'll  live  to  grow  up,  because  if  he  should 
die  now  I'm  afraid  God  wouldn't  want  him  in 
Heaven." 

"  Are  there  ladies  in  Heaven  that  take  care 
of  babies?"  asked  Maizie  interestedly,  a  new 
train  of  thoughts  started. 

"  You  know  there  are,  Maizie,"  said  Suzanna, 
allowing  no  one  else  a  chance  to  answer.  '  There 
are  lots  of  little  babies  that  go  away,  and  do  you 
s'pose  they'd  be  called  if  they  were  going  to  be 
left  hungry  and  cold?  God  has  it  all  arranged. 
First,  he  calls  a  baby  and  then  pretty  soon  he 
calls  a  mother  and  she  takes  care  of  the  baby." 

"Any  mother?"  Maizie  asked. 

"  Yes,  any  mother;  they're  all  good." 

"  But  why  doesn't  he  leave  them  on  earth  with 
their  own  mothers?  " 

"  Because  sometimes  he  takes  a  liking  to  some- 
body down  here,"  Suzanna  said  gravely.  "  But 
anyway,  you  needn't  ask  me  such  questions,  be- 
cause here's  Miss  Massey  who  knows  everything," 
Suzanna  finished  magnanimously. 

"  She  does  that,"  said  the  man  gravely  who 
was  holding  the  baby. 

"  Are  you   related  to   Miss   Massey?  "   asked 


SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 


Suzanna.  Now  Miss  Massey's  rather  faded 
cheeks  grew  pink. 

"  Is  it  a  long  time  before  the  baby  needs  his 
bottle  again,  Suzanna?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  not  for  hours,"  said  Suzanna.  "  You 
see,  now  he  eats  crackers  and  bread  and  butter 
and  an  egg  sometimes,  and  we  gave  him  some 
before  we  started."  She  returned  relentlessly  to 
the  question  again,  appealing  to  the  man.  "  Are 
you  related  to  Miss  Massey?" 

"  No,"  the  stranger  said  after  a  time.  "  we're 
just  friends." 

Miss  Massey  put  in  hastily:  "  Shall  we  go  into 
the  house,  children,  and  I'll  show  you  some  inter- 
esting things?  " 

The  man  rose  quickly,  the  baby  still  in  his 
arms.  In  this  manner  they  all  entered  the  big- 
house  and  went  into  the  beautiful  room  that 
Suzanna  remembered  so  well. 

"Do  you  live  here?"  asked  Suzanna  of  the 
man.  He  shook  his  head. 

"You  mean  in  this  little  town?"  he  asked. 
"  I  once  did  years  ago,  but  I  moved  away  to  the 
city.  I'm  paying  a  short  visit  to  my  sister  now." 

"  Oh,"  said  Suzanna.  "  My  father  has  a  sister 
called  Aunt  Martha.  She  comes  sometimes  when 
we  have  a  new  baby." 


SUZANNA  AIDS  CUPID  227 

"  Why,"  said  Maizie  suddenly,  as  they  were 
all  seated,  the  baby  contentedly  sitting  on  the 
man's  knee,  her  voice  shrill  with  new  discovery. 
"  He  w  related  to  Miss  Massey;  he  looks  at  her 
that  way." 

The  man,  after  a  long  pause  in  which  he  gath- 
ered understanding,  answered  very  solemnly. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  loving  a  person  makes  you 
a  relative,  then  I  am  very  closely  related  to  Miss 
Massey.  But  if  lack  of  money  keeps  one  from 
being  related,  then  I'm  only  a  stranger  to  her." 

Neither  Suzanna  nor  Maizie  could  understand 
that  statement.  But  Miss  Massey  blushed  till 
her  face  was  like  a  lovely  flower. 

Yet  when  Suzanna  appeared  to  be  about  to 
take  up  a  new  line  of  questioning,  Miss  Massey 
spoke  quickly: 

"  I  think  you'd  like  some  lemonade,  wouldn't 
you,  Suzanna,  you  and  your  sister?  I'll  go  and 
order  some  for  you." 

She  went  out  of  the  room.  The  man  waited 
for  a  moment,  then  handing  the  baby  to  Suzanna, 
followed  Miss  Massey. 

"Would  you  like  to  live  here,  Suzanna?" 
asked  Maizie. 

"  No,  I  don't  like  people  around  with  brass 
buttons  on  their  coats,"  said  Suzanna.  "  And 


228  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

then  there'd  be  so  much  cleaning  we'd  never  get 
through." 

At  the  moment  came  an  unmistakable  sound. 

'  The  Eagle  Man!  "  cried  Suzanna  with  abso- 
lute conviction.  "  I  thought  he  was  sick." 

And  indeed  it  was  just  exactly  the  Eagle  Man. 
Straight  he  came  to  the  library.  He  paused  in 
the  doorway  at  sight  of  the  children.  All  the 
high  color  had  faded  from  his  face;  he  looked 
alarmingly  ill. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Suzanna,  immediately  upon  sight 
of  him.  '  We  came  to  see  you  and  to  bring  you 
these  daisies." 

He  accepted  them  with  a  little  grimace. 
"  Thank  you,  little  girl,"  he  said.  "  Put  that 
heavy  baby  down.  He  can  crawl  around." 

Suzanna  carefully  lowered  the  baby  to  the 
floor.  He  sat  with  blinking  eyes,  so  many  treas- 
ures for  his  small  hands  lay  within  touch. 

The  Eagle  Man  spoke.  "  Who  have  you  been 
talking  with?  "  he  asked  as  he  looked  about  sus- 
piciously. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Suzanna,  "  there's  nobody  hidden 
away.  Miss  Massey  and  her  relation  went  out 
to  see  about  some  lemonade." 

"  Her  relation!  "  stormed  the  Eagle  Man. 

"  Yes,  the  one  who  loves  Miss  Massey." 


SUZANNA  AIDS  CUPID  229 

The  Eagle  Man  recovered  all  his  lost  color. 
Watching  his  terrible  expression,  both  children 
thought  it  a  blessing  that  at  this  critical  moment 
Miss  Massey  and  her  relation  returned.  But, 
oh,  it  was  not  the  same  Miss  Massey,  but  one 
who  had  found  the  world.  Her  face  was  glow- 
ing like  a  girl's  and  her  eyes  sparkled  and  shone; 
and  when  she  faced  her  father  there  was  mani- 
fest in  her  aspect  a  certain  courage  that  in  his 
eyes  at  least  sat  strangely  upon  her. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  "  you  should  be  in  bed." 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  all  this?  "  he  shouted, 
ignoring  her  soft  concern. 

The  new  relation  came  forward.  "  My  dear 
sir,"  he  began,  "  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  refrain 
from  attempting  to  intimidate  the  lady  who  is  to 
be  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife?  "  exclaimed  the  Eagle  Man  turn- 
ing upon  the  speaker.  "  She's  my  daughter." 

"  Granted,"  said  the  man  calmly,  "  and  she's 
also  my  promised  wife." 

"  I  shall  never  give  my  consent,"  said  the  Eagle 
Man,  but  his  voice  had  fallen. 

"  Then,  father,"  said  delicate,  timid  little  Miss 
Massey,  "  I  shall  marry  Robert  without  your  con- 
sent." 

There  was  a  long  heavy  silence.     The  baby 


230  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

having  found  a  gold-plated  lizard  on  the  hearth 
was  contemplating  it  with  wondering  eyes. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Eagle  Man  at  last,  try- 
ing to  speak  calmly.  "  You'll  go  your  own  way. 
Not  a  cent  of  mine  do  you  ever  get." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  the  man,  "  for 
not  a  cent  of  yours  shall  my  wife  need." 

Into  the  breach  Suzanna  strode. 

"  Oh,  but  you  will  need  money,"  she  cried  as 
she  stood  anchoring  the  baby  by  means  of  an 
extended  arm.  "  When  you're  married  and  you 
have  a  big  family  you'll  have  to  pay  the  rent, 
and  you'll  have  to  dress  all  the  little  children, 
and  there'll  be  insurance  week,  and  something 
you  haven't  thought  of  all  the  time,  and  just  when 
you  get  on  your  feet,  there'll  be  the  doctor  at  your 
door  and  his  bill  pretty  soon." 

"Exactly,"  said  the  Eagle  Man,  as  though  by 
Suzanna's  words  many  of  his  contentions  had 
been  proved. 

"  But  we  shall  be  together,"  said  little  Miss 
Massey,  as  though  that  beloved  truth  answered 
everything.  The  man  had  thrown  his  arms  about 
her  and  had  drawn  her  quite  close,  and  she  looked 
up  into  his  face  with  eyes  that  still  shone.  Oh, 
how  long  she  had  loved  him !  And  how  long  had 
it  been  since  she  settled  to  the  realization  that 


SUZANNA  AIDS  CUPID  231 

though  he  loved  her,  he  was  proud  and  would  not 
speak.  This  spoken  love  she  had  craved  with  all 
her  heart;  and  it  had  been  withheld  because  he 
had  no  money  and  her  father  had  too  much. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  your  real  objection  to  me?  " 
asked  the  man  with  frank  directness  appealing  to 
the  Eagle  Man.  "  For  that  you  have  had  objec- 
tions to  me  I've  sensed  always." 

The  Eagle  Man  turned  and  looked  the  younger 
man  over,  carefully,  critically,  before  answering. 
Indeed,  he  was  so  long  about  speaking  that  the 
children,  at  least,  thought  he  never  meant  to 
speak  again. 

But  at  last:  "My  daughter,"  he  began,  "  is 
now  thirty-six.  She  has  had  thirty-six  years  of 
luxury,  of  merely  raising  her  finger  and  receiv- 
ing highly  trained  service.  She  is  not  a  young 
girl  who  might,  being  more  adaptable  and  buoyed 
up  by  romance,  settle  down  to  a  new  order 
of  life;  she  is  too  used  to  the  luxuries  I  have 
been  able  to  give  her,  servants,  carriages,  horses, 
travel,  fine  clothes  —  "  he  enumerated  them  all 
with  distinctness,  giving  each  item  a  lengthy  sec- 
ond before  going  on  to  his  conclusion.  "  It  will 
work  real  hardship  on  her  to  be  compelled  to  give 
up  all  these  things  to  do  her  own  work  and  to 
make  over  her  own  dresses." 


232  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  You're  mistaken,  father,"  Miss  Massey  de- 
nied, "  all  that  giving  up,  if  giving  up  you  can 
call  it,  will  be  my  joy  if  I  can  be  with  Robert." 
Her  voice,  deep  with  emotion,  died  into  a  silence 
which  reigned  for  moments.  No  one  seemed  to 
wish  to  break  it,  not  even  the  baby.  And  yet, 
though  the  meaning  of  all  the  spoken  words  had 
not  been  clear  to  Suzanna,  her  eager,  sensitive  lit- 
tle mind  seized  on  pictures  which  seemed  some- 
how to  fit  in;  yet  pictures  in  their  simplicity  so 
far  removed  from  her  surroundings  of  luxury 
that  they  would  seem  but  vagrant  fancies. 

Had  she  attempted  to  translate  them,  she 
would  have  failed,  yet  as  they  grew  momentarily 
more  vivid  and  meaningful,  interpretive  words, 
as  vivid  as  the  pictures  themselves,  rushed  to  her 
lips.  She  turned  to  the  Eagle  Man. 

"  Oh,  on  Saturday  night  when  supper  is  over 
and  the  shades  are  pulled  down  and  the  lamp  is 
lit  in  the  parlor,  and  Robert  is  reading  a  big 
book  with  pictures  in  it,  and  the  children,  except 
the  two  eldest,  are  all  asleep  upstairs  and  it's 
raining  outside,  and  you  can  hear  the  pitapat, 
pitapat  of  the  drops  on  the  window  pane,  then 
Miss  Massey  will  be  happy.  Before  supper  Miss 
Massey'll  have  felt  awful  tired  and  she'll  hurry 
up  things  and  she'll  make  her  eldest  little  girl 


SVZANNA  AIDS  CUPID  233 

hurry  too,  but  after  the  dishes  are  cleared  away, 
and  she's  sitting  close  to  Robert,  she'll  be  so  glad 
she's  in  out  of  the  rain  with  her  children  all  in 
safe  too,  that  she'll  not  care  a  bit  about  raising 
her  finger  for  a  little  man  to  come  and  ask  her 
what  she  wants.  She'll  not  want  to  go  about  in 
a  carriage,  or  travel  in  a  big  train!  " 

No  one  spoke.  Only  the  scene  painted  so  sim- 
ply grew  in  the  hearts  of  at  least  two  there,  so 
that  Robert  drew  his  promised  wife  a  little  closer 
to  him  and  she  glanced  up  in  his  face  with  eyes 
full  of  color. 

Suzanna  went  on.  She  had  forgotten  her  audi- 
ence. She  was  just  telling  out  the  pictures  that 
had  been  built  into  her  life;  supper  tables  with 
many  young  faces  about;  little  babies  who  had 
stayed  just  awhile;  hasty  words  and  loving  mak- 
ing up;  the  star-dust  of  the  real  everyday  life. 

"  You  know,"  she  continued,  "  that  Maizie  and 
I  crept  downstairs  one  Saturday  night  because  I 
wanted  to  tell  daddy  something,  and  mother  was 
sitting  right  close  to  him,  and  we  heard  her  say: 
'  When  the  children  are  safe  in  bed,  and  just  you 
and  I  are  here  —  then  I  see  things  clearer  —  ' 
And  he  just  looked  at  her  and  said,  '  Sweet- 
heart! '  and  his  voice  was  nicer  than  even  when 
he  says  good-night  to  Maizie  and  me." 


234  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Miss  Massey  turned  her  gaze  upon  Suzanna. 
"  Little  girl,  little  girl,"  she  said,  "  come  here  —  " 

So  Suzanna  went  and  stood  close  to  Miss 
Massey,  whilst  Maizie  went  after  the  maraud- 
ing baby. 

The  Eagle  Man  cleared  his  throat.  "  That 
child  of  yours  is  going  to  sleep,"  he  said  speak- 
ing to  Suzanna. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Suzanna,  not  meaning  to  con- 
tradict, but  just  to  set  him  straight,  "  he's  wide- 
awake. But  I  guess  it  must  be  time  for  us  to 
go.  I  know  you  think  so  too,  Mr.  Eagle  Man." 

She  left  Miss  Massey's  tender  clasp,  went  to 
the  baby,  raised  him,  held  him  under  her  arm 
skilfully,  the  while  his  legs  stuck  out  straight  be- 
hind her.  She  spoke  to  Miss  Massey: 

"  If  the  Eagle  Man's  mad  at  you  and  he  stays 
mad  all  night,"  she  said,  "  you  can  come  to  our 
house  and  sleep  in  my  bed  with  Maizie.  Mother 
can  fix  the  dining-room  table  for  me." 

Miss  Massey  released  herself  from  Robert's 
clasp  and  went  to  Suzanna.  She  stooped  and 
kissed  her  tenderly.  "  Thank  you,  dear  little 
girl,"  she  said.  "  I'll  remember  that  invitation." 

The  Eagle  Man  pulled  a  cord  hanging  from 
the  ceiling.  Immediately  it  seemed,  one  of  the 
men  with  brass  buttons  appeared. 


SUZANNA  AIDS  CUPID  235 

"  Carry  that  child  to  its  perambulator,"  shouted 
the  Eagle  Man.  Not  a  flicker  disturbed  the 
serenity  of  the  man  addressed,  no  matter  what 
were  his  inner  feelings.  He  put  out  two  arms 
straight  and  stiff  like  rods,  and  Suzanna  placed 
the  baby  upon  them.  Saying  quickly  their  adieus, 
Suzanna  and  Maizie  walked  behind  the  uniformed 
man,  for  whom  Suzanna  at  least  felt  a  stirring  of 
pity. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    SIMPLE    WEDDING 

'   A  ND    so,"    concluded    Suzanna     early    one 

•L  \-afternoon  as  she  stood  on  a  soap  box  in 

her  own  yard,  "  the  noble  knight  set  forth  on  his 

prancing  steed,  having  finished  his  deeds  of  blood. 

And  all  about  him  lay  those  he  had  slain." 

The  children  having  listened  entranced  to  the 
story,  now  stirred.  Maizie  was  the  first  to  speak. 
"  I  think  the  knight  was  horrid,"  she  said. 

"  I  like  him,"  said  soft  little  Daphne  who  was 
now  a  constant,  happy  visitor  at  the  Procter  home. 

"  I  think  a  brave  knight  is  bully,"  said  Graham 
Bartlett,  as  constant  a  visitor  as  Daphne. 

"  I  would  slay  mine  by  the  hundred,"  cried 
Peter  boastfully. 

Graham  looked  off  into  the  distance.  "  I  shall 
fare  forth  some  day,"  he  said,  "  and  lead  my 
armies  to  victory  proudly,  yet  disdainfully.  I 
shall  have  no  love  in  my  heart,  only  sternness." 

"  Drusilla  can  tell  some  wonderful  tales  of 
knights,"  said  Suzanna.  "  Does  she  tell  you 
stories  when  you  go  to  visit  her,  Graham?" 

236 


A  SIMPLE   WEDDING  237 

Graham  colored  hotly.  "  I  haven't  been  to  see 
her  lately,"  he  answered;  then,  "I'll  tell  you, 
let's  go  today." 

Suzanna  bounded  away  to  ask  permission 
of  her  mother.  She  returned  in  a  moment. 
"  Mother  says  we  may  go  after  Peter  changes 
his  blouse.  Hurry  up,  Peter.  Don't  keep  us 
waiting." 

Peter  moved  reluctantly  houseward,  and 
Suzanna  ended:  "Isn't  it  fine  that  today  was 
teachers'  meeting  so  we  could  have  a  holiday?  " 

Graham  looked  wistfully  at  her.  He  had  a 
tutor,  and  lessons  alone  he  felt  could  not  be  so 
interesting  as  when  learned  with  a  number  of 
other  boys  and  girls. 

"  Let's  go,"  said  Suzanna,  "  we  can  walk 
slowly  so  Peter  can  catch  up  with  us.  You 
mustn't  get  tired,  will  you,  Daphne?"  Daphne 
was  very  sure  she  would  not,  and  Peter  reappear- 
ing at  the  moment,  they  all  started  away.  They 
went  out  into  a  sunny  day  left  over  from  the 
Indian  summer.  Still  there  was  crispness  in  the 
air  which  exhilarated  them,  moving  Peter  to  sun- 
dry manifestations  which  Maizie  coldly  desig- 
nated as  "  showing  off."  He  stood  on  his  head, 
turned  somersaults,  cast  his  voice  up  to  the  heav- 
ens, immediately  spoiled  the  crispness  of  his  clean 


238  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

blouse.  He  was  the  fine,  free  savage,  and  his  sis- 
ters finally  gave  up  trying  to  tame  him. 

"  It's  Thanksgiving  weather,  isn't  it?  "  said 
Suzanna.  "  Come  on,  let's  all  skip." 

So  they  all  fell  into  Peter's  spirit,  and  thus  it 
was  that  skipping  and  singing  they  reached  Dru- 
silla's  little  home.  It  was  very  quiet  in  that  spot, 
the  garden  desolate,  the  flowers  gone.  The  chil- 
dren instinctively  hushed  their  songs  and  went 
slowly  up  the  front  steps. 

Graham  rang  the  bell. 

The  kindly-faced  maid  answered  the  ring. 
"  Oh,  come  in,  children,"  she  cried.  "  Mrs.  Bart- 
lett  certainly  needs  cheering  today." 

The  children,  thus  cordially  invited,  trooped  in. 
"  Is  Drusilla  sad  today?  "  asked  Suzanna. 

"  Well,  she's  thinking  of  the  past,"  said  the 
maid.  "  All  day  she's  been  talking  of  her  early 
home  across  the  ocean,  talking  of  the  familiar 
places  of  her  childhood.  She  insisted  even  upon 
my  preparing  brouse  for  her  luncheon." 

"Brouse?"  The  children  were  interested. 
They  wanted  to  know  what  brouse  was.  The 
maid  smiled. 

"  Why  brouse  is  just  bread  broken  up  into  a 
bowl  with  hot  water  poured  over  it  and  lots  of 
butter  and  salt  and  pepper  added.  One  day  when 


A  SIMPLE   WEDDING  239 

Mrs.  Bartlett  was  a  little  girl,  her  mother  took 
her  to  the  home  of  an  old  nurse,  and  there  she 
had  brouse  to  eat,  and  afterwards  for  one  joy- 
ful hour  she  was  allowed  to  wear  the  clogs  be- 
longing to  the  nurse's  little  granddaughter." 

"  I  know  what  clogs  are,"  said  Graham. 
"  They're  wooden  shoes  that  make  a  lot  of  noise 
and  have  brass  nails  in  them."  He  had  looked 
into  the  sitting  room  and  was  interested  in  an 
object  there.  "  What's  that?  "  he  asked.  "  Can't 
my  grandmother  walk?  " 

The  maid's  eyes  followed  his  finger.  "  That's 
a  wheel  chair,"  she  said.  "  Your  grandmother 
is  not  so  strong  as  she  was  in  the  summer,  so  I 
take  her  out  in  the  chair  when  the  day  is  bright. 
Well,  children,  go  upstairs  quietly.  Suzanna 
knows  the  way  to  Mrs.  Bartlett's  room." 

So  the  children  on  tiptoes  mounted  the  thickly 
carpeted  stairs.  At  the  top  Suzanna  waited  for 
the  others,  then  went  down  the  hall,  paused  and 
knocked  softly  on  the  panel  to  the  right,  and  at 
the  soft  invitation  to  enter,  pushed  open  wide  the 
door. 

Drusilla  sat  within,  her  chair  drawn  close  to 
the  window.  Her  hands  were  lying  listlessly  in 
her  lap.  She  looked  wilted,  a  flower  fading  to 
its  end.  She  turned  to  the  children  and  smiled, 


240  SVZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

a  very  small  wistful  smile,  but  it  lit  her  pale  deli- 
cate face  and  made  Daphne  advance  confiden- 
tially to  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  We  came  to  see  you,"  she  said  in  her  win- 
some way. 

"  I'm  very  glad,"  said  Drusilla.  "  Won't  you 
all  come  close  to  me?" 

The  children  obeyed.  Drusilla  looked  inquir- 
ingly at  Graham,  and  then  said,  "  Well,  my  boy, 
you've  grown  somewhat." 

"  Yes,  two  inches  in  six  months."  He  wanted 
to  say  something  to  lift  the  sadness  from  her 
face,  and  at  last  he  blurted  out :  "  I  think  you're 
a  bully  grandmother,  and  I'm  coming  often  to 
see  you." 

"  Ah,  then  I'll  tell  you  fine  tales  of  your  father 
when  he  was  a  lad  of  your  age,"  she  answered, 
well  pleased.  She  put  out  her  white  hand  and 
laid  it  on  his  head. 

And  at  the  touch  there  grew  in  Graham's 
young  soul  a  wish  to  defend  this  dear  old  lady, 
this  grandmother.  He  wanted  to  fight  for  her, 
to  do  something  great  for  her.  He  had  visions 
of  himself,  a  man,  wearing  her  colors.  All  his 
deepest  chivalry  was  aroused.  He  looked  long- 
ingly into  her  face,  and  with  loving  sagacity  she 
read  his  desire. 


A  SIMPLE   WEDDING  241 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  wish  you  would  do 
something  for  me." 

"  Oh,  grandmother,  what  would  you  like  me 
to  do?  "  he  cried. 

"  The  day  is  so  beautiful,"  she  answered.  "  I've 
had  my  windows  open  and  I  know.  Would  you 
be  my  knight  and  wheel  me  out?  " 

"  Grandmother,  will  you  let  me  do  that? " 
His  voice  rose.  "  I'll  wheel  you  down  the  wide 
road  out  into  the  country."  He  straightened  his 
shoulders,  pride  filled  his  heart.  N  His  grand- 
mother trusted  her  frail  body  to  his  care  ! 

"  Well  and  good,  my  boy,"  she  answered.  And 
then  to  Suzanna :  "  Will  you  tell  Letty  to  get  my 
cape  and  bonnet.  My  grandson  would  take  me 
riding." 

Letty,  answering  Suzanna's  call,  came  at  once. 
She  found  a  very  cheerful  mistress  and  an  ex- 
cited little  group  of  children.  She  hesitated  a 
moment  when  Graham  told  her  he  meant  to  take 
his  grandmother  out  for  a  ride.  But  noting  the 
earnestness  of  the  boy's  manner  she  made  no 
spoken  objections,  but  she  went  to  the  clothes 
press  and  took  down  Drusilla's  "  dolman  "  and 
small  close  fitting  bonnet. 

"  Be  very  careful  of  your  grandmother,"  said 
the  maid,  as  she  dressed  Mrs.  Bartlett  and 


242  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

then  offered  her  arm  to  steady  the  slight  figure 
down  the  stairs. 

"  I  shall  be  very  careful,"  promised  Graham. 
Never  once  in  his  young  life  had  any  real  service 
been  asked  of  him.  He  was  experiencing  for  the 
first  time  a  sense  of  responsibility  and  he  grew 
beneath  it. 

Downstairs  Letty  guided  the  rubber-tired  wheel 
chair  out  into  the  hall,  down  the  front  steps.  She 
returned  for  Drusilla  and  seating  her  in  the  chair, 
tucked  a  soft  velvet  rug  about  her. 

Graham  took  his  place  at  the  long  handled  bar. 
Gently  he  pushed  the  chair  and  the  small  caval- 
cade was  on  its  way. 

At  first  each  child  was  quiet.  Graham,  ever 
mindful  of  the  charge  which  was  his,  was  very 
serious  and  his  thoughts  turned  to  his  mother. 

He  wished  she  had  taken  this  grandmother 
right  into  her  own  home  to  be  watched  over, 
loved  and  cared  for  tenderly.  He  wondered  if 
his  father,  his  ever  busy  father,  would  have  liked 
that.  Oh,  why  was  it  considered  better  for  a 
grandmother,  one  who  had  fancies,  to  live  alone 
in  a  small  house,  with  every  comfort  it  is  true, 
but  with  no  one  of  her  very  own  close  beside  her! 

He  looked  over  at  Suzanna.  She  was  walking 
close  to  Drusilla,  and  talking  earnestly  as  was  her 


A  SIMPLE   WEDDING  243 

way.  Suzanna  never  went  out  into  the  world  but 
some  object  started  a  train  of  thought  of  keen 
interest.  He  could  hear  snatches  of  her  talk. 
It  was  about  the  trees,  stripped  bare  now,  and 
their  mood  sad  probably  because  of  their  denude- 
ment.  Suzanna  gazed  with  concern  at  their  stark 
limbs  stretching  out,  no  longer  able  to  shelter 
people  or  to  sing  softly  when  the  wind  blew 
through  their  leaves. 

Drusilla  contributed  her  share,  too.  She 
thought  the  trees  knew  that  people  did  not  need 
shelter  from  the  hot  sun  when  the  snow  was 
about  to  fly.  And  the  snow  could  lie  in  such 
beautiful,  straight  lines  on  long,  unleaved  limbs. 

And  so  they  passed  on  from  subject  to  sub- 
ject, while  Graham  listened.  And  then  little 
Daphne  grew  tired  and  began  to  lag.  Graham 
seeing  the  child  and  about  to  make  some  sugges- 
tion for  her  comfort,  was  distracted  by  Peter's 
call.  The  boy  had  found  a  rabbit  hole  and  wished 
he  had  Jerry  with  him  to  reach  the  rabbit,  for 
which  cruel  wish  both  Suzanna  and  Maizie 
scolded  him  roundly.  And  he  gazed  at  them 
with  the  same  old  perplexed  gaze.  Were  these 
not  the  same  sisters  who  looked  complacently  on 
while  a  homeless,  helpless  dog  was  turned  out 
casually  into  an  inhuman  world? 


244  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Well,  again  he  gave  up  the  puzzle  of  their 
contrary  attitudes.  Perhaps  understanding  would 
come  in  the  big-grown-up  years. 

But  when  they  returned  from  examining  the 
rabbit  hole,  they  found  little  Daphne  had  curled 
herself  up  at  Drusilla's  feet.  Drusilla  had  moved 
a  little  and  the  child  hopping  up  on  the  foot-rest 
had  put  her  small  arms  on  Drusilla's  knee, 
dropped  her  head  and  gone  to  sleep.  Suzanna 
carefully  covered  her  with  part  of  the  velvet  rug. 

So  they  started  away  again  and  came  at  last 
to  a  little  lonely  church  set  back  from  the  road. 
It  was  a  quaint  little  edifice,  made  of  irregular 
purplish  stone.  The  moss  had  crept  up  on  one 
side  softly,  protectingly.  You  thought  at  once 
it  had  been  built  by  loving  hands  and  that  lov- 
ing souls  had  worshiped  in  it.  And  you  knew 
that  under  its  assumed  and  momentary  air  of 
expectancy  it  was  sad  in  having  outlived  its  use- 
fulness. Its  door  was  swung  open  hospitably  and 
the  children  stopped  to  look  in.  Graham  wheeled 
his  grandmother  close  to  the  door  so  she  too 
could  gaze  within. 

There  were  pews,  empty,  with  worn  cushions. 
A  large  stained  glass  window  with  one  Figure, 
noble  despite  the  artist's  limitations,  had  caught 
lights  and  sent  them  down  in  long  sapphire  and 


A  SIMPLE   WEDDING  245 

amethyst  fingers.  A  man  moved  about  the  altar, 
changing  from  place  to  place  a  vase  of  white 
roses. 

"  Is  that  the  minister?  "  whispered  Maizie. 

Suzanna  nodded.  "  Yes.  He's  going  to  offer 
up  prayer,  I  think." 

The  minister  turned  and  smiled  at  the  chil- 
dren. He  seemed  some  way  to  fit  into  the  soft 
atmosphere  of  the  place,  seeming  to  belong  there. 
Suzanna  could  not  fancy  him  moving  in  any  merely 
practical  environment. 

And  while  the  children  lingered,  and  Drusilla 
looked  in  through  the  open  church  door,  a  man 
and  a  woman  came  down  the  road.  The  woman 
walked  slowly  and  the  man  had  his  arm  about  her 
in  a  guarding  kind  of  way. 

When  they  neared  the  church  they  stopped. 
Suzanna,  turning,  recognized  them  and  with  a 
joyful  cry  she  ran  to  meet  them. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Massey,"  she  cried,  "  and  Robert. 
Are  you  out  for  a  walk,  too?  " 

The  man  looked  down  at  her.  "  Yes,  little 
girl.  We  are  going  into  that  old  church.  Did 
you  see  the  minister?" 

"  Yes,  he's  inside,"  said  Suzanna.  She  looked  at 
Miss  Massey.  "  You've  been  crying,"  she  said. 

Miss  Massey  tried  to  speak  calmly,  but  there 


246  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

was  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice.  "  Because  it's 
all  so  different  from  what  I  dreamed." 

"  Come,  dear,"  said  Robert  then,  "  come  with 
me." 

She  seemed  to  take  courage  from  his  manliness 
and  the  truth  of  his  love  shining  forth  from  his 
eyes,  and  so  she  put  her  hand  into  his  and  walked 
up  the  path  with  him. 

At  the  door  of  the  church  they  paused  again. 
Suzanna  who  had  followed  quickly,  said,  "  This 
is  Drusilla,  my  very  best  friend." 

Miss  Massey  looked  into  the  sweet  old  face. 
Perhaps  she  thought  of  her  own  mother,  for  the 
tears  came  quickly  again.  "  I'm  glad  to  know 
you,"  she  said  simply.  And  then  asked,  "  Won't 
you  come  in  and  see  me  married?  " 

And  Drusilla  answered:  "Indeed,  I  should 
like  to  very  much,  my  dear." 

So  Robert  helped  her  gently  from  the  wheel 
chair.  He  lifted  small  Daphne  upon  the  vacated 
seat  and  tucked  her  in  carefully.  And  then  they 
all  entered  the  church. 

The  minister  came  down  from  the  altar.  He 
had  lit  two  candles  and  they  sent  their  wavering 
light  out  upon  the  small  audience.  The  Man 
above  the  altar  looked  down  with  infinite  tender- 
ness upon  the  pale  little  bride. 


A  SIMPLE   WEDDING  247 

The  minister  spoke :  "  Robert,  take  your  bride 
upon  your  arm!  " 

Thus  adjured,  Robert  proffered  his  arm  and 
Miss  Massey  put  her  small  hand  upon  it.  Then 
slowly  they  walked  behind  the  minister  to  the 
altar.  Suzanna,  Maizie,  and  Peter  followed. 

Graham  offered  his  support  to  his  grandmother. 
He  had  pledged  his  fealty  to  her  and  he  felt 
grateful  that  she  leaned  upon  him  as  slowly  she 
mounted  the  four  steps  which  led  to  the  altar. 

There  they  grouped  themselves  about  the  bridal 
pair.  Graham  stood  close  to  his  grandmother, 
Suzanna  near  to  Miss  Massey,  Peter  and  Maizie 
at  Robert's  right  hand. 

The  minister  began :  "  Dearly  beloved,  we  are 
gathered  here  together  —  "  and  on  through  the 
beautiful  old  ceremony. 

He  came  at  length  to  this  question:  "Who 
giveth  this  woman  to  this  man?  "  and  paused  sim- 
ply in  custom.  And  old  John  Massey  was  far 
distant,  nursing  his  anger  and  yet  sad,  too,  because 
he  would  not  in  his  temper  attend  the  marriage 
of  his  daughter,  though  most  lovingly  and  plead- 
ingly had  that  daughter  begged  his  presence.  And 
the  girl's  mother  was  lying  out  on  a  hillside  — 
where  she  had  lain  for  many  a  long  year. 

And  the  waiting  bride  had  tears  in  her  heart, 


248  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

till,  suddenly,  Brasilia,  with  a  beautiful  light  in 
her  eyes,  stepped  forward.  She  put  her  white- 
veined  old  hand  softly  on  the  bride's  arm,  and  she 
said  in  a  low  clear  voice : 

"  I  do  —  I  give  this  woman  to  this  man." 

And  the  mother  spirit  in  her  spoke  so  richly 
that  the  bride  all  at  once  felt  happy  and  a  little 
awed,  too,  as  though  her  own  mother  had  for  the 
moment  raised  herself  and  spoken. 

And  the  minister  went  on  with  the  ceremony 
till  came  the  end:  "  And  I  pronounce  that  they 
are  Man  and  Wife." 

And  Robert  folded  his  wife  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  while  each  face,  young  and  old,  pictured 
the  deep  solemnity  of  the  moment. 

Robert's  wife  at  last  turned  to  Drusilla.  She 
put  her  arms  about  the  bravely  upstanding  figure 
in  its  old-fashioned  dolman.  "  Oh,  thank  you, 
thank  you,"  she  murmured.  "  I  shall  never  forget 
what  you've  done  for  me  today." 

The  color  flowed  like  a  wave  up  over  Drusilla's 
face.  With  a  quick  little  breath,  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  kissed  the  new  wife.  She  experienced 
a  sudden  glow.  It  was  as  though  Life  for  the 
moment,  forgetful  that  she  was  old  and  laid  aside, 
had  called  her  forward  to  fill  a  need  no  other  was 
near  to  fill. 


A  SIMPLE   WEDDING  249 

They  all  left  the  church  after  Robert  had  signed 
his  name  in  a  big  book,  and  his  wife  had  written 
hers  with  a  proud  little  flourish.  Robert  helped 
Drusilla  into  the  wheel  chair,  after  lifting  Daphne 
from  her  place  on  the  upholstered  cushion.  This 
time  the  little  girl  awoke.  She  was  about  to  cry 
when  Robert  raised  her  in  his  arms  and  carried 
her  down  the  road,  hushing  her  against  him,  while 
Graham  again  ordered  himself  his  grandmother's 
squire. 

And  so  they  went  down  the  road  together,  all 
somewhat  quiet,  even  Peter's  exuberant  spirits 
moderated,  till  they  reached  Drusilla's  home.  The 
maid,  Letty,  awaiting  her  mistress'  return,  ran 
down  the  steps,  an  anxious  frown  between  her 
eyes. 

"  Come,"  said  Drusilla.  "  You  must  all  be  my 
guests."  She  whispered  some  words  in  Letty's 
ear.  The  girl  smiled  and  half  shyly  glanced  at 
Robert  and  his  bride. 

Robert  still  carrying  little  Daphne,  who  had 
refused  to  be  put  down,  said  at  once :  "  We 
should  like  that  very  much.  I  was  so  hoping 
you  would  ask  us." 

So  they  entered  the  little  house.  They  went 
into  the  parlor  with  its  portrait  above  the  mantel 
and  the  lilies  of  the  valley  beneath  it.  Graham 


250  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

remembered  with  a  little  warm  feeling  that  his 
father  had  once  left  the  order  at  a  city  florist's  for 
a  daily  spray  of  those  lovely  bells. 

Letty,  carrying  the  dolman  and  small  bonnet, 
disappeared  but  in  a  miraculously  short  time 
returned  to  announce  that  tea  was  ready  in  the 
dining-room. 

Drusilla  flushed  and  happy  led  the  way.  Rob- 
ert and  his  wife  followed,  and  the  children  came 
last.  The  hostess,  from  her  place  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  designated  each  one's  chair,  and  when 
all  were  seated  she  bowed  her  head  and  offered 
up  a  little  prayer. 

And  then  Letty  brought  in  hot  muffins  and 
marmalade,  sweet  butter  and  fragrant  tea.  And 
amidst  much  laughter  and  merry  words  the  feast 
began: 

And  at  the  end  Drusilla  rose,  and  asking  silence, 
said: 

"  Robert,  today  in  the  name  of  the  bride's 
mother,  I  gave  her  into  your  keeping.  I  can  see 
a  promise  in  your  eyes  that  she  will  never,  never 
regret  going  to  you.  Love  her  always." 

And  Robert,  standing,  in  a  deep  voice 
answered:  "  Drusilla,"  borrowing  quite  uncon- 
sciously Suzanna's  way  of  name,  "  Drusilla,  I  have 
taken  upon  myself  this  day  the  great  responsibility 


A  SIMPLE   WEDDING  251 

of  a  woman's  happiness  —  "  he  paused  and  bent  a 
look  of  ineffable  tenderness  upon  his  wife  —  "  and 
please  God  I  shall  keep  that  responsibility  while 
life  lasts." 

And  they  all  pushed  back  their  chairs,  the  chil- 
dren with  a  little  scraping  noise.  And  Robert 
looking  at  his  watch  thought  it  was  time  to  leave, 
since  the  train  would  not  wait  for  laggards. 

Then  all  in  a  moment  it  seemed  he  was  going 
down  the  path  again,  his  wife  upon  his  arm.  And 
Graham,  who  had  disappeared  kitchenward, 
returned  and  flung  a  handful  of  rice  after  them. 
At  which  the  bride  turned  and  laughed  and  waved 
her  hand. 

"  It  was  a  real  wedding,  wasn't  it,  Drusilla?  " 
said  Suzanna,  "  even  to  the  rice." 

"  A  real  wedding,  my  little  girl,"  said  Drusilla. 

Graham  spoke:  "Grandmother,  aren't  you 
glad  I  wheeled  you  out  today?  " 

She  answered  at  once.  "  So  very  glad,  Graham. 
And  I  feel  happier  tonight  than  for  many  a  long 
day." 

"And  may  I  do  so  again  soon?"  he  asked. 
"  And  next  summer  I'll  take  you  out  every  day." 

A  little  smile  touched  her  lips.  "  Next  summer 
—  next  summer  —  ?  Ah,  laddie,  come  often  this 
winter,  if  you  can." 


252  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

And  then  the  children  started  away.  And  at 
the  last  moment  Drusilla  drew  Suzanna  to  her. 
"  Little  girl,"  she  said  lovingly,  "  I'm  so  glad 
you  came  once  to  visit  me  —  that  summer  day." 

"  Oh,  so  am  I,  Drusilla,"  Suzanna  cried.  She 
looked  wistfully  into  her  friend's  face.  "  Some 
day  I  want  to  do  something  wonderful  for  you." 

Drusilla,  bending  low,  kissed  the  upturned  face 
with  its  big  seeking  eyes.  But  she  did  not  speak. 
For  why  make  definite  by  clumsy  words  the  mira- 
cles a  little  child  brings  to  pass.  No,  thought 
Drusilla  in  her  wisdom,  Suzanna  should  go  her 
way  beautifully  unconscious  of  her  good  works. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  EAGLE  MAN  VISITS  THE  ATTIC 

A  FEW  Saturdays  after  the  marriage  in  the 
little  wayside  church,  Richard  Procter 
reached  home  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

The  family  was  in  the  dining-room.  Mrs. 
Procter  was  polishing  the  drinking  glasses. 
Though  it  was  long  past  noon,  Suzanna  had  just 
commenced  to  clear  away  the  luncheon  dishes. 
Maizie  was  shaking  napkins,  while  Peter  was  in 
a  corner  pretending  to  play  ball  with  the  baby, 
very  much  to  the  baby's  amusement. 

Mr.  Procter  told  his  news  triumphantly. 

"  At  last,"  he  cried.  "  Jane,  John  Massey  is 
absolutely  coming  to  see  the  machine  this  after- 
noon." 

The  color  flashed  up  into  Mrs.  Procter's  face. 

"Oh,  Richard,"  she  cried;  "perhaps  —  "  but 
she  did  not  finish  her  conjecture. 

"  He  won't  take  The  Machine  away,  will  he, 
father?"  Suzanna  asked  anxiously. 

"  No,  not  that  particular  one,  little  girl. 
There'll  have  to  be  others  built.  That  is  just  the 
model." 

253 


254  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

At  two  o'clock  Mr.  Procter  was  in  the  attic 
working  at  the  machine.  At  three,  so  interested 
had  he  grown,  that  he  had  really  forgotten  the 
expected  visit  of  old  John  Massey.  So  it  was  a 
real  surprise  when  Mrs.  Procter  ushered  him  in. 

"  Well,  I'm  here  at  last,"  said  Mr.  Massey. 
He  looked  over  to  where  the  cabinet  stood. 
(  Your  machine  is  rather  mysterious  looking." 

"  Does  it  seem  so?  Here,  lay  your  hat  and 
coat  on  this  table,  Mr.  Massey.  Now  I'll  explain 
the  purpose  of  the  machine." 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I'm  most  interested  in,  what 
it's  for;  what  you  expect  to  do  with  it." 

Richard  Procter  turned  an  eager  face  to  the 
capitalist. 

"  I'll  start  at  the  beginning,"  he  said.  "  Have 
you  ever  stopped  to  think  what  would  mean  the 
greatest  happiness  to  humanity?  " 

Mr.  Massey  coughed  and  moved  uneasily. 
"  Can't  say  I  have.  Food  and  drink  sufficient  fof 
all,  so  I've  heard  your  orator  across  the  street 
announce." 

Mr.  Procter  smiled.  "  That,  yes,  might  bring 
content,  but  I'm  speaking  of  spiritual  happiness. 
Well,  this  is  my  idea  of  what  would  bring  about 
a  revolution  in  the  sum  total  of  world  content. 
Each  man  at  the  work  he  was  born  to  do. 


THE  EAGLE  MAN   VISITS  THE  ATTIC        255 

"  And  having  once  reached  that  conclusion,  1 
set  about  formulating  plans  for  the  building  of 
my  machine.  An  instrument  so  delicate  that  it 
could  register  a  man's  leading  talent." 

Mr.  Massey  moved  away  a  little.  He  stared 
doubtfully  at  the  inventor  before  the  clearing 
thought  came.  Before  him  stood  a  madman,  a 
wild  visionary. 

He  looked  over  at  his  hat  and  coat.  To  stay 
was  a  mere  waste  of  time,  he,  realized  that  now. 
Still,  there  was  Suzanna  who  had  made  a  place 
for  herself  in  his  gruff  old  heart.  The  machine, 
he  knew,  could  have  no  commercial  value.  Yet 
he  remembered  a  few  of  Suzanna's  values  which 
were  not  based  on  the  possession  of  money. 

Well,  for  Suzanna's  sake  he  would  listen,  go 
away  and  forget.  So  he  seated  himself,  and 
waited  condescendingly  for  the  inventor  to  con- 
tinue. He  himself  said  nothing,  for  silence,  he 
had  learned,  was  golden. 

Mr.  Procter  went  on.  "  My  first  step  in  the 
work  was  to  evolve  what  might  be  termed  a  system 
of  color  interpretation." 

"  I  don't  understand  at  all,"  said  old  John 
Massey  sharply. 

The  inventor  hesitated.  Visionary,  he  might 
truly  be  called,  but,  too,  he  was  sensitive  and  he 


256  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

had  felt  the  capitalist's  withdrawal  as  soon  as  the 
purpose  of  the  machine  was  explained  to  him. 
But  the  end  was  a  big  one.  He  must  not  hesitate, 
so  he  went  on. 

"  May  I  put  it  broadly  without  arousing  your 
derision,  that  color  sight  was  bestowed  upon  me. 
Just  as  my  little  girl  Suzanna  visualizes  each  day 
as  a  shape,  so  I've  always  seen  people  in  color; 
that  out  of  that  sight  I  built  my  own  science  of 
color." 

"  Romance  of  color,  you  mean,"  returned  John 
Massey  harshly,  "  for  so  far  as  I  can  gain,  there 
is  no  science  about  it.  I  deal  in  facts,  Mr.  Procter, 
not  in  air  castles.  Does  the  machine  do  anything, 
but  stand  there  a  silent  monument  to  your 
dreams?  " 

Mr.  Procter  hesitated  but  a  moment,  then, 
"  Come,  Mr.  Massey,"  he  said,  "  take  your  place. 
Let  us  see  what  the  machine  says  of  you.  Remem- 
ber, please,  it  will  register  only  your  truest  mean- 
ing, the  purpose  for  which  you  were  born ;  the  part 
of  you  which  never  dies,  which  is  never  really  sub- 
merged, regardless  of  a  turning  to  false  gods." 

A  little  uneasy  despite  himself,  Mr.  Massey 
seated  himself  before  the  machine. 

The  inventor  touched  levers,  opened  and  shut 
doors,  lowered  the  helmet,  adjusted  the  lens. 


THE  EAGLE  MAN  VISITS  THE  ATTIC        257 

As  the  clicking  sound  commenced  Mr.  Massey 
stirred.  "  Keep  very  quiet,"  said  the  inventor, 
"  and  watch  the  glass  plate." 

Mr.  Massey  obeyed.  Now  a  satiric  smile 
touched  his  lips.  He  was  almost  enjoying  this 
child's  play. 

But  soon  the  smile  faded,  for  in  a  moment  there 
grew  upon  the  glass  plate  standing  between  the 
two  tubes  a  pillar  of  color,  vivid  yellow,  tipped 
with  primrose. 

"What  —  what  does  that  mean?"  asked  old 
John  Massey. 

The  inventor  lifted  the  helmet,  and  shut  off  his 
power  before  speaking.  "  According  to  my  belief, 
my  understanding  of  color  significance,  the  reason 
for  your  being  in  this  world,  with,  of  course,  inter- 
esting variations  brought  about  by  environment 
and  education,  is  identical  with  that  of  Reynolds." 

Mr.  Massey  started  forward  angrily,  but  he 
thought  better  of  whatever  he  had  in  his  heart  to 
say.  "  Go  on,"  he  commanded  gruffly. 

"  As  a  young  man  you  had  dreams  of  being  a 
practical  humanitarian,"  said  Mr.  Procter  softly, 
"  and  undoubtedly  with  your  opportunity  you 
might  have  been  a  valuable  figure  in  the  world. 
You  were  endowed  with  vision.  You  saw  the 
wrongs  man  labors  under;  as  a  youth  you  smarted 


258  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

because  of  those  wrongs.  And  you  saw  the  super- 
being  man  might  become  given  equal  chances." 

"  Like  Reynolds  — "  repeated  Mr.  Massey 
after  a  time,  on  impulse  - —  one  immediately 
regretted. 

"  Like  Reynolds,  our  great  rough,  fine-hearted 
Reynolds,"  said  Mr.  Procter,  "  the  one  whom 
you've  had  threatened  with  arrest  because  he 
harangued  too  freely  on  the  street  corner."  He 
paused  to  finish  impressively:  "I  see  now  that 
the  man  who  throws  away  his  spiritual  birthright 
for  a  mess  of  pottage  hates  the  one  who  keeps 
his  in  the  face  of  all  —  poverty  —  misunderstand- 
ing —  ridicule." 

A  silence  dark  as  a  cavern  ensued.  Mr.  Massey 
at  last  got  to  his  feet.  He  stood  a  long  moment 
looking  at  the  machine,  then  he  glanced  at  the 
inventor,  but  when  someone  knocked  softly  at  the 
door  he  started,  revealing  how  far  away  from  his 
immediate  surroundings  his  thoughts  had  flown. 

Suzanna  entered.  "  Here's  David,  daddy,"  she 
said.  "  He  wants  to  talk  with  you." 

David  entered.  "  I  had  some  time,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  wanted  to  see  the  machine  again." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  inventor  heartily. 
"  Mr.  Massey,  this  is  my  friend,  David  Ridge- 
wood,  Graham  Woods  Bartlett's  gardener." 


THE  EAGLE  MAN   VISITS  THE  ATTIC        259 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Massey,"  said  David. 
"  I've  seen  you  before,  of  course.  Heard  of  you 
often." 

John  Massey  did  not  answer  at  once,  since  he 
was  somewhat  at  a  loss.  He  had  not  been  in  the 
habit  of  meeting  socially  his  friends'  gardeners. 
At  last  he  blurted  forth. 

"  How  d'  do.  I've  had  a  look  at  Procter's 
invention." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  supposed  so,"  said  David.  Then : 
"  Isn't  the  thought  back  of  that  machine  wonder- 
ful? "  Which  ridiculous  question  quickened  again 
all  the  Eagle  Man's  combativeness.  He  spoke 
with  a  fine  candor. 

"  The  thought  may  be  wonderful,  young  man. 
I'll  not  pass  on  that.  But  plainly  I  can't  see  where 
the  commercial  value  of  the  machine  comes  in." 

David  and  Suzanna  fell  back  from  the  cloud 
which  gathered  on  the  inventor's  face. 

"  The  commercial  value !  "  he  cried.  "  Have  I 
spent  my  life  working  merely  that  the  capitalist 
may  make  more  money?  I  tell  you,  sir,  that  I 
have  worked  only  for  the  betterment  of  the  race. 
And  to  you,  John  Massey,  I  am  giving  the  great 
opportunity." 

'  Well,  out  with  it.     Where's  the  great  oppor- 
tunity?"  asked   Mr.   Massey  testily.     "To  my 


260  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

mind  you  haven't  an  article  with  a  wide  enough 
appeal." 

"  Wide  enough  appeal !  "  cried  the  inventor. 
"  My  dear  sir,  it  has  an  appeal  world-wide,  and 
you  are  to  make  it  of  such  appeal."  He  paused 
to  continue  impressively:  "  John  Massey,  I  offer 
you  the  opportunity  of  endowing  an  institution 
which  shall  be  built  to  use  my  machine.  To  that 
institution  young  men  of  impecunious  parents  may 
come  to  discover  their  leading  talent." 

"  If  there  is  a  leading  talent,  will  it  take  your 
machine  to  discover  it?  "  asked  John  Massey. 

"  In  most  cases,  yes.  How  many  young  men 
fail  to  discover  until  too  late  what  life  work  they 
are  best  fitted  for,  unless  they  possess  a  talent  so 
strong  that  it  amounts  to  genius.  How  many  of 
necessity  are  sent  out  into  the  world  at  an 
unformed  age  to  slavery  in  order  that  they  and 
their  dependents  may  live.  What  chance  or  time 
have  they,  grinding  away  at  any  work  which  brings 
a  dollar,  to  know  for  what  work  they  are  most 
suited.  They  know  only  when  it  is  too  late  that 
they  are  bound  by  chains,  crucifying  themselves 
daily  at  tasks  they  hate,  and  for  which  they  have 
no  natural  adaptation." 

He  paused,  only  to  continue  with  fire:  "  Or,  if 
they  have  ambitions,  know  what  they  would  best 


THE  EAGLE  MAN  VISITS  THE  ATTIC        261 

like  to  do,  how  helpless  they  are.  No  money,  no 
opportunity." 

"  I'll  warrant,  Mr.  Massey,"  put  in  David, 
"  that  there  are  many  men  employed  in  your  steel 
mills  who  by  natural  inclination  are  totally  unfitted 
for  their  jobs.  Now,  wouldn't  scientific  investiga- 
tion in  their  early  manhood  have  helped  to  find 
for  them  the  right  place  and  so  added  to  their  hap- 
piness? " 

"  Well,  I'm  not  interested  in  that  part  of  the 
question;  their  happiness  has  nothing  to  do  with 
me,"  returned  John  Massey.  "  I  pay  'em  their 
wages  and  that's  enough.  And  I  don't  believe 
that  every  man  is  born  with  a  special  talent.  They 
all  look  alike  to  me  mostly." 

"  Every  man  is  born  with  the  capacity  to  do 
something  in  a  way  impossible  to  another,"  said 
the  inventor  with  conviction.  "  There  are  no  two 
persons  alike  in  the  world." 

John  Massey  smiled.  He  really  now  felt  that 
he  was  being  entertained.  Such  another  rare  speci- 
men as  this  inventor  with  his  ridiculous  contentions 
would  be  hard  to  find.  So  he  said  pleasantly: 
"  And  after  the  machine  has  recorded  its  findings, 
what  then?  " 

"  Then  you,  and  other  men  like  you  who  have 
accumulated  fortunes  —  " 


262  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  Stop !  "  cried  the  capitalist.  "  Let  me  finish 
for  you.  After  the  machine  has  done  its  work, 
I'm  to  have  the  privilege  of  paying  for  the  pro- 
fessional education  or  trade  of  these  same 
impecunious  young  men." 

"  Exactly,  sir.  The  institution  you  endow  might 
be  called  the  Temple  of  Natural  Ability  Appraise- 
ment. There  the  poor  in  money,  but  the  rich  in 
ambition  may  come;  there  the  fumblers,  the  inde- 
cisive, may  come  to  be  put  to  a  test.  Ah,  yours 
can  be  a  great  work." 

"  A  great  opportunity  for  you,  Mr.  Massey," 
emphasized  David,  the  gardener.  "  I  envy  you." 

"  You'd  help  out,  wouldn't  you,  Eagle  Man?  " 
Suzanna  now  cried  with  perfect  faith  in  his  good 
will.  "  You  see,  you'd  have  to  when  you  remem- 
bered that  there's  a  little  silver  chain  stretching 
from  your  wrist  to  everybody  else's  in  the  world. 
It  must  be  rubber-plated,  I  guess." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  the  Eagle  Man, 
involuntarily  casting  his  glance  down  to  his  wrist, 
his  flow  of  satire  dammed. 

"  That's  what  Drusilla  told  me;  we  all  belong. 
And  you  can't  do  something  mean  without  break- 
ing the  chain  that  binds  you  to  somebody  else." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  said  the  Eagle  Man,  letting 
his  hand  fall  upon  her  bright  hair,  "  you  belong 


THE  EAGLE  MAN   VISITS  THE  ATTIC        263 

to  a  family  of  impossible  visionaries."  He  looked 
over  at  Suzanna's  father,  and  his  face  suddenly 
grew  crimson.  "  Were  you  in  earnest,  Procter," 
he  cried,  "  when  you  told  me  in  Doane's  hardware 
store  that  your  machine  meant  a  big  opportunity 
to  me  —  were  you  jesting?  " 

"  Jesting!  Why,  I've  pointed  out  your  oppor- 
tunity, plainly." 

"  Shown  me  how  I  can  throw  a  fortune  away!  " 

After  a  moment  Mr.  Procter  replied:  "We 
speak  in  different  languages.  By  opportunity  you 
can  see  only  a  chance  to  make  more  money." 

"  Any  other  sane  person  makes  the  same  guess," 
Mr.  Massey  replied. 

The  inventor's  face  grew  sad.  He  had  dreamed 
of  John  Massey's  response,  a  dream  built  on  sand, 
as  perhaps  he  should  have  known.  But  hope 
eternal  sprang  in  his  heart,  and  the  belief  that 
every  man  wished  the  best  for  his  brother. 

The  silence  continued.  To  break  it  Mr.  Mas- 
sey turned  to  David. 

"  Your  friend  seems  to  think  he  has  but  to  put 
before  me  the  need  for  charity  and  I  shall  thank 
him  effusively." 

David  spoke  slowly:  "  My  friend  should  have 
known  better.  He  forgot,  I  suppose,  your  slums 
where  you  house  your  mill  hands." 


264  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Mr.  Massey 
began,  when  an  exclamation  from  Suzanna,  who 
was  standing  at  the  window,  turned  his  attention 
there. 

"  See,  there's  a  big  fire  over  behind  the  big 
field,"  she  cried  excitedly.  "  Oh,  look  at  the 
flames!  The  poor,  poor  people!  " 

David  sprang  to  the  window.  "  It's  over  in 
the  huddled  district,"  he  cried.  A  fierce  light 
sprang  to  his  eyes.  "  Where  most  of  your  men 
live  with  their  families,  John  Massey.  I  wonder 
how  many  will  escape." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SUZANNA  PUTS  A  REQUEST 

IN  that  devastating  fire  which  swept  out  of  exist- 
ence the  entire  tenement  district  of  Anchorville 
two  were  lost,  never  to  be  heard  of  again,  parents 
of  a  twain  of  children,  a  boy  of  four  and  a  girl  of 
three. 

Mrs.  Procter,  finding  the  mites  wandering  away 
from  the  smoking  ruins,  had  at  once  taken  them 
home  with  her,  fed  them,  found  clothes  for  them, 
and  rocked  the  tired  little  girl  to  sleep. 

"  Are  we  going  to  keep  them  forever, 
mother?  "  Maizie  asked  one  afternoon  about  two 
weeks  after  the  fire.  No  one  had  put  in  a  claim 
for  the  children;  they  were  homeless,  friendless. 
What  was  to  be  done  with  them?  Mrs.  Procter 
had  turned  with  loathing  from  the  thought  of  the 
orphanage. 

She  stood  at  Maizie's  question  in  deep  per- 
plexity. She  could  not  turn  the  children  away  or 
put  them  in  an  institution  —  and  yet,  how  could 
she  care  for  them?  There  was  the  very  definite 
problem  of  extra  clothes  and  food  to  be  found 
out  of  an  income  already  stretched  to  its  utmost. 

265 


266  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  They  haven't  a  home  any  more,  have  they, 
mother?  "  Siizanna  asked,  the  while  her  earnest 
eyes  searched  her  mother's  face.  "  So  we  should 
do  unto  others  as  we'd  be  done  by,  shouldn't  we?  " 

A  vague  memory  returned  to  Mrs.  Procter. 
What  was  it  Suzanna  had  once  said?  "  Mrs. 
Procter  cuddles  all  children  in  her  heart."  And 
Suzanna  and  Maizie  stood  watching  her,  asking 
a  literal  translation  of  a  principle  laid  down  for 
man's  guidance. 

"  We'll  see  what  can  be  done,"  Mrs.  Procter 
answered  finally.  And  then  she  continued  very 
carefully:  "You  see,  it  isn't  only  a  question  of 
giving  these  little  ones  a  home,  but  they  must  be 
clothed  and  fed  and  educated,  and  we  haven't  a 
great  deal  of  money." 

"  So  many  of  those  poor  people  haven't  any 
homes  any  more,  have  they?  "  asked  Suzanna. 
Her  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears  of  pity.  She 
looked  out  of  the  window.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly.  And  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  suffering 
about  them,  Suzanna  wished  it  would  hide  behind 
a  cloud.  It  seemed  the  day  itself,  to  be  in  sym- 
pathy, should  be  dark,  depressed,  altogether 
gloomy. 

Her  mother  answered:  "  It's  providential  in 
a  manner  that  those  unsightly  cottages  were  swept 


SUZANNA  PUTS  A  REQUEST  267 

away;  but  they  meant  homes  for  many  poor  souls; 
and  all  that  they  possessed  was  contained  in  those 
homes." 

Suzanna's  ingenious  mind  settled  itself  to  work 
on  the  problem  of  the  bereft  ones.  She  was  no 
longer  thinking  of  the  two  little  orphans,  but  of 
the  many  troubled  people.  If  only  her  home  were 
large  enough  to  accommodate  them  all !  Her 
thoughts  in  natural  sequence  ran  to  the  Eagle 
Man  and  his  beautiful  place,  but  she  immediately 
rejected  the  idea.  She  feared  he  might  not  listen 
kindly  to  the  plan  of  lending  his  home  even  as  a 
temporary  abode  for  the  stricken.  Had  he  not 
been  a  little  unkind  about  her  father's  wonderful 
Machine? 

Suddenly  she  remembered  Bartlett  Villa,  and 
with  the  memory  came  a  thousand  thoughts. 
Impulsively  she  donned  hat  and  coat,  spoke  a 
word  to  her  mother  and  was  off. 

In  a  very  short  time,  for  she  ran  nearly  all  the 
way,  she  reached  Bartlett  Villa.  She  pushed  open 
the  big  iron  gate  leading  into  the  grounds,  and 
stopped  short,  for  there  to  the  left,  near  a  closed 
fountain,  stood  Graham.  He  was  talking  to  a 
tall  man  whose  back  was  toward  Suzanna.  About 
the  two,  in  seeming  happiness,  played  Jerry. 

Graham  cried  out  when  he  saw  Suzanna.     She 


268  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

went  quickly  to  him.  Then  the  man  looked  down 
at  her  and  smiled.  Suzanna  decided  that  she  liked 
him,  but  she  wished  his  smile  was  more  of  a  real 
one,  one  that  should  light  his  face.  She  did  not 
know  the  word,  but  he  looked,  despite  his  smile, 
cynical,  rather  weary.  Yes,  she  knew  she  should 
like  him,  for  in  some  indefinite  way  he  reminded 
her  of  her  father.  Was  it  the  brown,  rather  near- 
sighted eyes?  Surely  they  were  keen,  yet  behind 
their  keenness  dwelt  a  softness;  perhaps  he,  too, 
once  had  cherished  a  vision. 

Graham  greeted  her  demonstratively.  "  And 
this  is  my  father,  Suzanna,"  he  said.  "  I've  told 
him  a  lot  about  you." 

"  Yes,  I  know  a  great  deal  about  you,  Suzanna," 
said  Mr.  Bartlett;  "  and  David  has  told  me  of 
your  father's  invention  and  what  he  expects  to  do 
some  day  with  it." 

Suzanna's  face  kindled.  "  Yes,  my  father's  a 
great  man,"  she  said,  simply. 

Then  she  turned  to  Graham:  "  I  came  to  talk 
to  you  about  something  very  important.  I  was 
going  to  ask  you  afterwards  to  speak  to  your 
father  about  my  plan." 

"I  may  hear,  then?"  said  Mr.  Bartlett. 
"  Shall  we  go  on  into  the  house?  There's  a  little 
chill  in  the  air." 


SUZANNA  PUTS  A  REQUEST       269 

So  they  walked  toward  the  great  house,  leaving 
Jerry  rather  disconsolate.  Suzanna,  looking  up 
at  Mr.  Bartlett,  said:  "  I've  been  here  twice  and 
I've  never  seen  you." 

"  My  business  takes  me  often  to  different 
cities,"  he  replied. 

"  They  entered  the  house  and  went  into  a  small 
room  at  the  left  of  the  wide  hall.  It  was  lovely, 
Suzanna  decided,  done  all  in  soft  gray,  except  the 
curtains  at  the  window,  which  were  of  amber  silk, 
hanging  in  heavy  folds.  Yes,  very  charming, 
Suzanna  emphasized  to  herself.  She  liked  par- 
ticularly the  one  picture  on  the  wall,  showing  a 
group  of  horses,  heads  high  in  the  air,  full  of  fire. 
Suzanna  could  see  them  move,  she  believed. 

"  Sit  down  there,  Suzanna,  in  that  high-backed 
chair  and  tell  us  what  you  have  to  say  that's  so 
important,"  suggested  Mr.  Bartlett. 

"  I'm  crazy  to  hear  all  about  it,  Suzanna,"  sup- 
plemented Graham.  He  settled  himself  in  antici- 
pation, for  Suzanna  was  always  intensely 
interesting. 

Suzanna  seated  herself.  A  quaint  little  figure 
she  was,  her  fine  head  thrown  in  relief  against  the 
gray  satin  of  the  chair.  "  You  know,"  she  began, 
"  there's  been  a  fire." 

"  A  bully  big  one,"  said  Graham. 


270  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Suzanna  turned  her  dark  eyes  upon  the  boy. 
"  It  was  a  big  one,  and  maybe  fun  to  watch,"  she 
said,  "  but  it  burned  all  the  people's  homes.  We've 
got  two  little  children  at  our  house.  We  could 
never  find  their  father  and  mother." 

Mr.  Bartlett,  occupying  the  corner  of  a  lounge, 
shifted  uneasily.  Evidently  to  put  forth  truths  so 
baldly  was  inartistic. 

"  My  mother  says  it  was  —  I  can't  think  of  the 
word  —  but  she  meant  it  was  lucky  those  cottages 
were  burned  down;  they  were  so  dirty."  Suzanna 
went  on:  "And  babies  played  in  the  yards  in 
ashes  and  old  papers.  I  always  hurried  past  when 
I  went  that  way  because  something  stopped  inside 
of  me,  I  felt  so  sorry  for  those  babies."  Suzanna 
paused.  "  I  just  thought  as  we  walked  up  your 
front  path  how  different  everything  is  here;  your 
front  yard  is  so  clean,  and  there's  so  much  room  !  " 

She  stopped  again.  She  wished  Mr.  Bartlett 
would  speak.  He  must  guess  now  all  that  she 
meant  to  convey  to  him;  all  she  would  ask  of  him. 

But  still  he  didn't  answer.  "  The  Eagle  Man 
owned  those  houses,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  The  Eagle  Man?  "  Mr.  Bartlett  roused  him- 
self at  last.  "  Who  is  the  Eagle  Man  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Massey  other  people  call  him.  The 
Eagle  Man's  my  own  private  name  for  him." 


SUZANNA  PUTS  A  REQUEST       271 

Graham  knew  his  father  was  heavily  interested 
in  the  Massey  Steel  Mills.  But  he  did  not  speak. 

"  You  know,  it's  an  awful  fine  feeling  you  get 
when  you're  doing  something  for  strangers," 
Suzanna  pressed  on.  "  Some  way  you  don't  feel 
so  excited  when  you're  doing  something  for  your 
very  own  family." 

But  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  A 
continued  silence  still  greeted  her  words.  "  When 
people  work  for  you  isn't  it  as  though  you  were 
their  father  or  their  big  brother  and  had  to  help 
them  when  they  needed  it?  "  she  asked,  at  length. 

"  Well,  it's  a  new  thought  that  you  owe  any- 
thing to  the  men  who  work  for  you  except  their 
wages,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett  at  last. 

t  Why,  Drusilla  told  me  that  everyone  in  the 
world  has  a  little  silver  chain  running  from  his 
wrist  to  his  next  friend's  wrist;  it  stretches  when 
you  run  —  a  fellowship  link  my  father  named  it 
when  I  told  him.  And  the  chain  runs  from  my 
wrist  to  your  wrist  and  from  yours  to  every  other 
wrist  in  the  world."  She  leaned  closer,  finishing 
earnestly.  "  And  Drusilla  says  if  you  break  your 
chain  you're  really  a  slave." 

"  Very  interesting,"  commented  Mr.  Bartlett. 

"  Yes,  isn't  it?  "  agreed  Suzanna.  She  returned 
tenaciously  to  her  subject.  "There  are  many 


272 


homeless  families  who  weren't  welcome  where 
they  had  to  go  after  the  fire.  Mary  Holmes  says 
her  mother  took  in  four  people  and  she  says  as 
long  as  they  stay  there'll  have  to  be  stews,  for  in 
that  way  a  pound  of  meat  goes  further,  and  Mary 
just  hates  stews." 

;'  Well,  what  is  your  suggestion  of  a  remedy, 
Suzanna?"  asked  Mr.  Bartlett.  At  which  ques- 
tion, though  put  in  words  beyond  her,  Suzanna's 
eyes  brightened.  She  caught  the  sense  unerringly 
and  answered  promptly. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  could  do  something. 
You  have  so  much  room."  And  then  the  solution 
came,  out  of  the  sky  as  often  answers  came  when 
you  didn't  expect  them.  "  Why,  you  could  put 
tents  up  in  your  big  yards  for  the  homeless  people, 
till  their  own  homes  are  built  again." 

Mr.  Bartlett  was  greatly  amused.  "  You  ask 
such  a  little  thing,  Suzanna." 

"  Yes,  isn't  it,  seeing  it'll  help  out  so  much?  " 
Suzanna  returned  innocently. 

Graham  rose  and  went  close  to  his  father. 
"  Father,"  he  said,  "  who's  going  to  build  the  new 
homes  for  the  poor  people?  " 

His  father  answered:  "I  don't  know,  I'm 
sure;  but  I  should  think  it  old  John  Massey's  duty 
to  do  so." 


SUZANNA  PUTS  A  REQUEST       273 

"  Father,"  asked  Graham,  after  a  pause  given 
over  to  thought  and  drawing  on  his  memory  for 
what  vague  facts  he  knew  of  his  father's  busi- 
ness, "  if  you  take  less  money  for  your  interests  in 
the  mill  and  if  you  speak  to  him,  do  you  suppose 
Mr.  Massey  would  begin  at  once  to  build  those 
homes?"  His  young  face  was  quite  white  with 
earnestness  and  other  new  emotions  struggling  up 
to  the  surface. 

Mr.  Bartlett  looked  from  one  small  face  to  the 
other.  He  smiled  grimly.  They  could  see  noth- 
ing but  the  humanness  of  a  situation,  the  need 
existing.  Going  against  all  precedent  meant  noth- 
ing to  them;  they  simply  followed  ridiculous 
altruistic  impulses.  Only  in  their  minds  was  the 
knowledge  that  other  people  were  suffering;  and 
the  immediate  necessity  for  relief. 

He  let  his  hand  fall  upon  his  son's  shoulder. 
"  How  about  the  trip  abroad,  Graham?  "  There 
was  an  under  meaning  in  his  question  which 
Graham  got  at  once.  His  face  lit. 

"  I'd  rather  help  out  here,  father,  and  give  up 
the  trip.  I  really  would." 

Mr.  Bartlett  remained  quiet  for  a  long  time 
again.  In  some  mysterious  manner  he  was  now 
for  almost  the  first  time  looking  upon  his  son  as  an 
individual,  one  with  opinions  and  the  power  of 


274  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

criticism.  And  there  grew  in  his  heart  the  very 
fervent  desire  to  stand  well  in  that  son's  estima- 
tion. He  looked  at  Suzanna  and  envied  her 
father.  How  proudly,  how  simply  she  had  said, 
"  He  is  a  great  man !  " 

But  when  he  spoke,  he  reverted  to  a  name  used 
a  moment  before  by  Suzanna,  a  name  he  knew 
well. 

"  Who's  your  very  philosophic  friend,  Suzanna 
—  Drusilla,  you  called  her." 

Suzanna's  eyes  shone.  "Drusilla?  She's  my 
special  friend.  She  lives  in  a  little  house  on  the 
forked  road.  She's  pretty  and  sweet  and  she  has 
fancies,  like  children.  She  plays  sometimes  she's 
a  queen.  But  she's  lonely.  She  gave  Miss  Massey 
to  Robert  in  the  little  church.  And  she  has  no 
one  in  all  the  world  left  to  call  her  by  her  first 
name.  So  I  call  her  Drusilla  and  she  loves  it." 

Graham  did  not  stir.  Neither  did  he  look  at 
his  father  till  Suzanna,  suddenly  remembering, 
cried  out: 

"  Why,  Drusilla's  Graham's  grandmother!  " 

Mr.  Bartlett's  face  suddenly  went  very  white. 
He  didn't  speak  for  a  long  time.  Then  he  rose 
and  went  to  the  window,  drew  back  the  silken 
curtain  and  stared  out. 

Suzanna    wondered    if    be    would    ever   move 


SUZANNA  PUTS  A  REQUEST       275 

again !  At  the  moment  he  was  far  away.  He  was 
a  boy  again  at  his  mother's  knee,  listening  to  that 
fanciful  conception  of  the  little  silver  chain  that 
stretched  so  far.  There  rushed  in  on  him,  too, 
other  memories,  blinding  ones  that  hurt.  True, 
every  day  at  the  little  house  a  spray  of  lilies  of 
the  valley  were  delivered;  but  with  that  imper- 
sonal gift  which  cost  him  nothing  but  the  drawing 
of  a  check  he  had  dismissed  his  mother  from  his 
busy  mind,  letting  her  stay  in  loneliness,  live  in 
old  dreams. 

A  soft  little  swish  was  heard  at  the  door  and 
Mrs.  Bartlett  entered  the  room.  She  stopped  in 
some  consternation  at  sight  of  the  silent  trio 
within. 

;'  Why,  what  is  the  matter? "  she  asked, 
impulsively. 

Mr.  Bartlett  turned  from  the  window.  He 
looked  at  his  wife,  steadily  regarded  her  beautiful 
face  and  bronze-colored  hair  piled  high  upon  her 
small  and  regal  head.  His  gaze  sought  the  soft, 
white  hands,  the  tapered  fingers  with  pink  and 
shining  nails. 

At  last  he  spoke,  very  quietly,  but  each  word 
seemed  weighed:  "  '  And  in  the  morning  there 
shall  tents  suddenly  arise.'  A  quotation  from 
somewhere,  my  dear,  but  it  shall  come  true  here." 


276 


She  turned  a  cold  gaze  upon  him.  "  Will  you 
explain  what  you  mean?  "  she  asked. 

"  There  are  a  few  homeless  people  in  Anchor- 
ville;  their  homes  laid  waste  by  a  fire,"  he  said, 
pleasantly.  "  This  small  messenger  has  sug- 
gested that  we  make  use  of  our  ample  grounds 
for  a  time  by  putting  up  tents,  for  a  time,  I  say, 
till  more  substantial  abiding  places  may  be  built." 

She  clenched  her  hands.  "  You  can't  do  that, 
Graham,"  she  began,  a  note  of  entreaty  in  her 
voice;  "you  can't  possibly  be  so  absurdly  quix- 
otic." 

"And  why  not?' 

"I  can't  understand!"  she  repeated.  "Such 
philanthropic  ideas  have  not  occurred  to  you 
before." 

He  went  to  her,  standing  so  he  could  look  into 
her  eyes.  "  It's  late  in  the  day,  but  I'll  try  to  do 
some  little  thing  my  mother  would  like  me  to  do." 

Mrs.  Bartlett  was  about  to  speak  again  in  burn- 
ing protest  when  her  glance  fell  upon  the  children, 
Suzanna  and  her  own  boy.  And  the  eloquent 
expressions  upon  those  small  faces  kept  her  silent. 
At  last  she  turned  as  though  to  leave  the  room. 
Over  her  shoulder  she  spoke. 

"  At  least  you  will  not  insist  upon  my  presence 
here  while  you  fulfill  your  preposterous  plans?  " 


SUZANNA  PUTS  A  REQUEST  277 

He  replied  gently:  "  As  always,  I  ask  nothing 
that  you  cannot  give  in  perfect  freedom." 

She  hesitated,  was  about  to  say  something, 
stopped  and  took  another  subject:  "  As  for  your 
mother  —  " 

He  interrupted  her,  but  to  repeat  "  As  for  my 
mother  —  "  but  he  left  his  thought  unfinished. 

Then  he,  too,  went  toward  the  door,  and  as 
he  passed  Suzanna  he  let  his  fine,  nervous  hand 
touch  her  bright  hair.  Once  he  turned.  "  Suzanna, 
as  I  told  you,"  he  said,  "  David,  my  fine  gardener, 
has  interested  me  somewhat  in  your  father's 
machine;  perhaps  I'll  make  a  journey  to  your 
home  some  day  to  see  it." 


W 


CHAPTER  XX 

DRUSILLA  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY 

HEN  Suzanna,  returning  home  on  wings, 
opened  the  front  door,  she  heard  voices 
in  the  kitchen.  And  there,  as  she  entered,  she 
saw  Mrs.  Reynolds  engaged  in  reading  aloud  the 
directions  on  a  paper  pattern.  Suzanna,  full  of 
her  story,  waited  almost  impatiently  until  Mrs. 
Reynolds  had  finished. 

Then  she  burst  forth:  "  Oh,  mother,  Graham 
Bartlett's  father's  going  to  make  tent  homes  in  his 
yard  for  the  poor  people." 

Mrs.  Procter,  leaning  over  the  kitchen  table, 
selected  a  pin  from  an  ornate  pin  cushion  and 
inserted  it  carefully  in  the  pattern  under  her  hand 
before  turning  an  incredulous  eye  upon  her 
daughter. 

"  It's  for  his  mother's  sake,"  continued 
Suzanna,  who  had  grasped  the  spiritual  meaning 
of  Mr.  Bartlett's  offer. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  was  the  first  to  voice  her  sur- 
prise. "  Why,  that  man,  to  my  knowledge,  has 
never  taken  any  real  interest  in  anything.  Rey- 

278 


DRUSILLA  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY       279 

nolds  says  he  just  draws  big  dividends  out  of  the 
mill,  runs  about  from  one  interest  to  another,  and 
cares  really  naught  for  anyone." 

"  Oh,  but  he's  very  kind,  Mrs.  Reynolds," 
Suzanna  objected.  "  As  soon  as  he  knew  his  yards 
were  too  big  to  waste  and  that  his  mother  would 
love  to  have  him  do  good,  he  told  his  wife  he 
meant  to  put  up  tents  till  new  homes  were  built." 

Mrs.  Procter  cast  a  knowing  look  above  Suzan- 
na's  head.  Mrs.  Reynolds  caught  it  and  sent  back 
a  tender  smile.  "  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes," 
she  began,  when  Maizie  entered.  In  her  tow  were 
the  two  shy  little  orphans. 

Maizie  spoke  at  once  to  Mrs.  Reynolds.  "  I 
knew  you  were  still  here,  Mrs.  Reynolds,"  she 
said;  "  I  can  always  tell  your  funny  laugh." 

Mrs.  Reynolds  laughed  again.  "  Well,  little 
girl,"  she  said,  "  did  you  want  something  from 
me?" 

Maizie  nodded  vigorously.  Her  face  was  very 
stern,  "  Yes,  please,"  she  answered.  "  I  want 
you  to  take  these  bad  orphans  home  with  you. 
They're  cross  and  hateful  and  I  don't  want  them 
to  stay  here  any  more." 

The  two  orphans  stood  downcast,  the  small  boy 
holding  tight  to  his  sister's  hand,  listening  in 
silence  to  their  arraignment.  Mrs.  Procter, 


280  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

shocked,  interposed:  "Why,  Maizie,  Maizie 
girl!" 

But  Maizie  went  on.  "  You  can't  be  kind  to 
them;  they  won't  let  you.  And  I  had  to  slap  the 
girl  orphan." 

The  one  alluded  to  thrust  her  small  fist  in  her 
eye.  Her  slight  body  shook  with  sobs.  Suzan- 
na's  heart  was  moved.  She  addressed  her  sister 
vigorously.  "  That  isn't  the  way  to  treat  people 
who  are  weary  and  homeless,  Maizie  Procter," 
she  began.  "  You  ought  to  be  kindest  in  the  whole 
world  to  sorry  ones !  " 

Maizie  paused.  She  understood  perfectly  her 
sister's  reference.  "  When  the  Man  with  the  halo 
picked  you  out  of  everybody  and  smiled  on  you, 
you  ought  to  be  good  to  all  little  children  that  He 
loves,"  pursued  Suzanna. 

"  Not  to  little  children  who  won't  play  and  who 
won't  be  kind,"  said  Maizie.  But  her  voice  was 
low.  She  turned  half  reluctantly  to  the  orphans 
and  looked  steadily  at  them,  as  though  trying  to 
produce  in  herself  a  warmer  glow  for  them. 

They  did  not  stir  under  the  look.  "  But  naughty 
children  have  to  be  made  good  even  if  you  have 
to  slap  them,  Suzanna,"  said  Maizie  pleadingly. 

"  But  not  by  you,  Maizie,"  said  Suzanna;  "  you 
never  can  slap  or  be  cross.  I  have  a  bad  temper 


DRUSILLA  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY       281 

and  sometimes  get  mad.    But  because  of  what  you 
are  You  always  have  to  be  loving  and  kind." 

Awe  crept  into  Maizie's  eyes.  It  was  a  great 
moment  for  her,  little  child  that  she  was.  She 
was  to  remember  all  her  days  that  she  was  as  one 
set  apart  to  be  loving  and  kind.  She  gazed  sol- 
emnly back  at  Suzanna,  as  she  dwelt  upon  the 
miraculous  truth  of  her  heritage. 

At  last  Maizie  turned.  "  Mrs.  Reynolds,"  she 
said,  "  our  Suzanna  once  adopted  herself  out  to 
you,  didn't  she?" 

Mrs.  Reynolds  bestowed  a  soft  look  upon 
Suzanna.  "  She  did  that,  the  lamb,  and  often 
enough  I've  thought  of  that  day." 

"  You  liked  her  for  your  little  girl  because  you 
haven't  any  of  your  own?  "  pursued  Maizie. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  nodded,  and  Maizie  sighed  her 
relief. 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  adopt  these  orphans  out  to 
you,  Mrs.  Reynolds.  I'm  sorry  for  them  now, 
and  I  know  I  ought  to  be  kind  to  them,  but  it  will 
be  easier  for  me  if  you  have  them.  I  think  you'd 
be  awfully  happy  with  two  real  children  of  your 
very  own." 

No  one  spoke.  The  little  boy,  laggard  usually 
in  movement,  looked  up  quickly  at  Mrs.  Reynolds. 
He  knew  that  Maizie  found  it  difficult  to  be 


282  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

patient  with  him,  and  that  therefore  she  was  offer- 
ing him  and  his  sister  to  the  kind-looking  lady. 

"  We  like  them  pretty  well,  but  we'd  rather 
you'd  have  them,"  Maizie  went  on  generously  but 
with  unswerving  purpose.  "  And  till  you  get  used 
to  children  I'll  come  over  every  day  and  wash  and 
dress  them." 

Mrs.  Reynolds'  face  was  growing  pinker  and 
pinker.  She  continued  gazing  at  the  boy  and  the 
girl,  and  from  them  back  to  Suzanna,  her  favorite. 
But  whatever  emotions  surged  through  her  she 
found  for  the  moment  no  words  to  express  them. 
At  last  she  spoke  in  a  whimsical  way. 

"  It's  not  much  you're  asking,  little  girl,  to  take 
and  raise  and  educate  two  growing  children  on 
Reynolds'  wages."  And  then  she  blushed  furi- 
ously and  glanced  half  apologetically  at  Mrs. 
Procter.  For  what,  indeed,  was  Mrs.  Procter's 
work?  With  superb  defiance  toward  mathemat- 
ical rules,  she  was  daily  engaged  in  proving  that 
though  those  rules  contended  that  two  and  two 
make  four,  if  you  have  backbone  and  ingenuity 
two  and  two  make  five,  and  could  by  stretching  be 
compelled  to  make  six. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  said  Mrs.  Reynolds.  She 
gathered  up  carefully  the  paper  pattern,  folded  its 
long  length  into  several  pieces,  opened  her  hand 


DRUS1LLA  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY       283 

bag  and  thrust  the  small  package  within.  "  Thank 
you  for  your  help,  Mrs.  Procter.  I  think  I  can 
manage  nicely  now,"  she  said,  as  she  snapped  the 
bag  together. 

Mrs.  Procter  repeated  the  conversation  to  her 
husband  that  evening,  as,  the  children  in  bed,  they 
sat  together  in  the  little  parlor.  "  And  it  might 
be  the  most  wonderful  happening  in  the  world, 
both  for  the  poor  children  and  for  Mrs.  Rey- 
nolds," said  Mrs.  Procter. 

Mr.  Procter  did  not  answer.  His  wife,  watch- 
ing him  keenly,  realized  that  he  was  troubled. 
She  put  down  her  sewing.  "  Tell  me,  Richard, 
what's  gone  wrong,"  she  said. 

He  hesitated,  caught  her  hand,  held  it  tight. 
"  I  might  as  well  tell  you,  dear.    John  Massey  has 
bought  out  Job  Doane's  hardware  shop." 
"  Bought  him  out?  " 

"  Yes.  No  one  seems  to  know  why.  He  paid 
a  good  price  and  he'll  probably  sell  again.  I 
don't  know,  I'm  sure." 

He  pressed  his  hand  wearily  to  his  head. 
"  What's  to  be  done,  dear?  What's  to  be  done? 
There's  no  other  opening  for  me  in  Anchorville." 
She  rallied  to  help  him  as  always.  "  At  least 
we'll  not  meet  trouble  till  it's  full  upon  us,  There's 
always  some  way  found." 


284  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

And,  as  always,  he  brightened  beneath  her 
touch,  let  hope  spring  again  within  his  heart. 
"  Shall  you  work  upstairs  tonight?  "  she  asked, 
knowing  that  companionship  with  his  beloved 
machine  closed  his  mind  to  other  matters. 

"  If  you  will  come  upstairs  with  me,"  he  said. 
"  Can  you  leave  your  mending?  I  want  you 
close  by." 

She  felt  strongly  and  joyously  his  need  of  her. 
"  I  will  come,"  she  said. 

They  were  on  the  way  upstairs,  treading  care- 
fully that  the  lightest  sleeper,  Suzanna,  might  not 
be  awakened,  when  the  hurried  peal  came  at  the 
front  door.  They  stopped.  "  Go  on  to  the 
attic,"  said  Mrs.  Procter;  "  it's  perhaps  Mrs. 
Reynolds  come  to  borrow  something,"  so  Mr. 
Procter  went  on.  Mrs.  Procter  ran  lightly  down. 

She  opened  the  front  door  to  David.  Near 
him  stood  Graham  and  behind,  his  tail  wagging 
furiously,  Peter's  dog,  Jerry.  David  began  at 
once. 

"  Mr.  Bartlett's  mother  was  taken  ill  suddenly. 
Mr.  Bartlett  is  with  her.  She  is  begging  to  see  the 
little  Suzanna." 

"  Come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  flinging  the 
door  wide.  And  as  they  entered  and  stood  all 
three  in  the  hall,  the  dog  feeling  himself  now  in 


DRUSILLA  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY       285 

his  new  character  as  welcome  as  his  human  com- 
panions, she  finished:     "  Suzanna's  asleep." 

"  My  father  wished  greatly  you  would  allow 
Suzanna  to  go  to  my  grandmother,  though  it  is 
late,"  put  in  Graham. 

"  Could  she  be  awakened?  "  asked  David.  And 
by  the  expression  in  his  eyes  Mrs.  Procter  under- 
stood that  this  wish  of  Brasilia's  should  not  be 
denied. 

The  dog,  feeling  entreaty  in  the  air,  sat  down 
and  raised  his  voice.     It  was  a  penetrative  voice, 
too,  filling  the  house  with  its  echoes,  echoes  that 
scarcely  died  away  before  a  soft  call  came : 
"  Mother  —  mother  —  " 
Mrs.    Procter    smiled    at    David.      "  There, 
Suzanna  is  awake.     Jerry  accomplished  what  he 
wished.    I'll  go  upstairs  and  dress  her  quickly." 

So  it  was  that  the  little  girl  flushed,  starry-eyed, 
appeared  with  her  mother  a  little  later.  Her  dra- 
matic senses  were  alert.  "  Isn't  it  lovely  and 
important,"  she  began  at  once  to  David,  "  that 
Drusilla  wants  to  see  me  when  it's  away  into  the 
night?" 

"  Very  important,"  said  David,  but  he  did  not 
smile.  "  Are  you  quite  ready  now?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Suzanna  and  slipped  her  hand 
within  Graham's.  "  Are  you  going  too,  Graham?" 


286  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  Yes.     David's  driving  the  light  cart." 

The  night  was  cool,  but  there  were  big  rugs  in 
the  cart.  David  bundled  Suzanna  up  till  only  her 
vivid  face  looked  out.  As  they  went  swiftly  she 
gazed  up  at  the  stars  and  the  soft  dark  sky.  She 
loved  the  night  fragrances,  and  the  rustle  of  the 
dead  leaves  as  lazy  little  winds  stirred  them. 

They  came  very  soon  to  Drusilla's  home. 
David  alighted,  unwound  Suzanna,  lifted  her 
down  to  the  ground  very  carefully,  Graham  fol- 
lowing slowly.  David  tied  his  horse,  gave  the 
animal  a  comradely  pat,  bade  the  dog  remain  in 
the  cart,  and  then  the  three  went  on  to  the  house. 
The  door  opened  immediately  for  them,  a  light 
streaming  out  from  within.  The  sweet-faced 
maid,  Letty,  who  had  been  crying,  ushered 
them  in. 

"  I'll  wait  downstairs,"  said  David. 

Letty  nodded,  and  with  the  children  went 
upstairs. 

They  stopped  when  they  reached  the  open  door- 
way of  Drusilla's  bedroom.  And  seated  in  a  big 
velvet  chair,  as  usual  drawn  near  the  window, 
though  the  shade  was  pulled  straight  down,  pil- 
lows heaped  all  about  her,  sat  Drusilla.  Her  face 
seemed  small,  oh,  pitiably  small,  with  bright  eyes 
quite  too  large  for  their  place.  But  someway 


DRVSILLA  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY       287 

Suzanna,  looking  in,  knew  that  Drusilla  was 
happy. 

Perhaps  because,  kneeling  beside  her,  his  head 
buried  in  her  lap,  was  her  son. 

Her  thin  fingers  strayed  through  his  hair,  and 
her  tremulous  voice  murmured  to  him  just  as  it 
had  when  as  a  very  small,  very  penitent  boy  he 
had  knelt  in  the  same  way,  sure  of  her  understand- 
ing, very,  very  sure  of  her  love. 

The  picture  remained  for  the  moment,  then  the 
man  kneeling,  stirred  and  rose  to  his  feet.  He 
stood  looking  down  at  his  mother,  till  impelled 
by  a  sound  in  the  doorway  he  turned  and  saw  the 
children. 

They  came  forward  then  into  the  softly  lighted 
room. 

"  Drusilla !  "  Suzanna  cried,  going  straight  to 
the  frail  figure  seated  in  the  velvet  chair.  "  You 
wanted  to  see  me,  didn't  you?  " 

"  I  did  that,  little  girl,"  Drusilla  answered.  "  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  that  the  land  of  sunshine  and 
love  is  close  at  hand  where  I  shall  meet  my  king 
and  be  parted  no  more." 

"And  where  you'll  reign  queen?"  cried 
Suzanna,  delighted. 

The  old  head  flung  itself  up;  the  faded  eyes 
blazed;  the  frail  figure  straightened  itself.  "  Ay, 


288  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

queen !  "  She  turned  to  Graham,  who  had 
approached  and  stood  regarding  her,  his  boyish 
face  agleam  with  love  and  a  little  longing,  and  a 
little  sadness,  for  he  knew  better  than  Suzanna  the 
great  change  at  hand.  "  Who  stands  there?  "  she 
asked. 

He  answered  at  once :  "  A  courtier,  my 
Queen." 

She  smiled.  "  Approach  closer  then,"  she  said 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand.  But  her  eyes  were  on 
Suzanna.  "  My  favorite  princess,"  she  said 
softly,  letting  her  hand  fall  upon  the  small  head. 
"  She  came  first  one  day  when  the  flowers  were 
all  in  color.  She  listened  to  me,  and  believed  my 
stories  of  the  land  where  I  once  dwelt  —  with  my 
king  and  my  young  prince,  who  afterwards  for- 
got me." 

A  sob  came  from  the  throat  of  the  man  standing 
near.  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  A  white- 
clad  nurse  came  tiptoeing  in,  looked  at  her  patient, 
nodded  reassuringly  and  went  out  again. 

"  I  knew  you  were  a  queen,  Drusilla,"  said 
Suzanna,  "  because  you  were  so  beautiful,  and  so 
haughty."  She  leaned  forward  till  her  young  face 
was  very  close  to  the  old  fading  one.  "  And  you 
told  me  something  that  day  about  the  chain  that 
binds  everybody  in  the  world  to  everyone  else. 


DRUSILLA  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY       289 

I've  never  forgotten  that.  I've  told  lots  of  people 
about  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  remember." 

"  And  I  told  that  story  to  the  Eagle  Man,  and 
to  Graham's  father,  and  he's  going  to  have  tents 
put  up  in  his  yard  for  some  poor  people  who  have 
no  homes,  for  your  sake,  Drusilla." 

The  frail  figure  suddenly  fell  back.  "  Drusilla/ 
Who  calls  me  that?"  The  pale  lips  trembled. 
"  Many,  many  years  have  gone  since  I  heard  that 
name." 

The  man  cried  out :  "  Mother  dear  —  Mother 
dear!  " 

She  turned  her  eyes  upon  him.  The  light  of 
recognition  slowly  returned  to  them.  "  My  boy," 
she  said  gently.  "  Come,  sit  beside  me.  All 
three.  The  little  girl  who  loves  me,  and  you  and 
your  child,  my  grandson." 

So  they  settled  themselves,  all  at  her  knee. 
"  Mother,  dear,  did  you  hear  what  Suzanna  said? 
Your  story  of  the  chain  awakened  me." 

"  Awakened  you,  my  boy?  But  that  story  and 
others  I  told  you  many  years  ago,  and  you 
forgot." 

The  tears,  hard-wrung,  started  to  his  eyes. 
"  But,  mother,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  is  it  too 
late?  Those  truths  I  learned  many  years  ago 


290  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

from  you  —  is  it  too  late  to  use  them  now?  "  He 
let  his  head  fall  suddenly  upon  her  knee:  "  Oh, 
mother,  mother,  how  blind  are  men;  what  false 
gods  they  worship !  " 

She  did  not  answer.  Graham,  a  great  pity 
sprung  in  his  heart  for  his  father,  spoke : 
"  Father's  good,  grandmother!  He  does  lots  of 
kind  things  for  people.  And  he's  going  to  take 
care  of  many  families  whose  homes  were  burned." 

"  In  your  name,  mother,  as  Suzanna  says,"  said 
the  man,  lifting  his  head.  "  And  many,  many 
other  righteous  things  in  your  name,  my  mother." 

Her  face  grew  luminous,  with  a  light  lent  from 
some  far  place.  "  My  boy  —  my  little  son  —  " 
she  whispered. 

The  white  clad  nurse  came  in  again,  looked 
sharply  at  her  patient.  "  I  think,"  she  said  softly, 
"  you  must  all  leave  now." 

So  they  rose.  But  Suzanna,  after  saying  fare- 
well, turned  again.  The  nurse  was  arranging  the 
bed.  Drusilla  sat,  her  eyes  looking  off  into  the 
distance.  Suzanna  went  swiftly  back. 

"  Is  the  land  you're  going  to  very  beautiful, 
Drusilla?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Fairer  than  you  may  dream,  little  girl,"  Dru- 
silla returned.  And  then:  u  Kiss  me,  Suzanna, 
and  call  me  Drusilla  once  more." 


DRUS1LLA  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY       291 

Suzanna  kissed  the  soft,  wrinkled  cheek. 
"  Good-bye,  Drusilla,"  she  breathed.  "  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart,  and  I'm  coming  to  see  you 
again  very  soon." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MR.  BARTLETT  SEES  THE  MACHINE 

BUT  Suzanna  did  not  go  to  see  her  friend 
Drusilla  again.  For  within  a  few  days  after 
the  hurried  night  visit,  Drusilla  set  off  on  her 
journey.  There  was  but  one  with  her  when  she 
left,  all  aquiver  to  be  gone,  her  eyes  set  in  the 
distance  on  visions  hid  from  earthly  eyes. 

Her  boy  was  close  beside  her,  his  arms  about 
her,  his  heart  filled  with  woe  for  all  the  years  he 
had  forgotten.  And  when  he  kissed  her  and 
begged  her  forgiveness,  she  was  all  love  and 
understanding  for  him,  even  as  when  a  small  boy 
he  had  sought  her  forgiveness  and  her  under- 
standing. 

The  tents  were  up  now  in  the  big  Bartlett 
grounds.  Tents  with  floors  and  movable  stoves. 
Children  played  about  the  grounds  on  the  rare 
sunny  day  that  Drusilla  went  away. 

Mr.  Bartlett,  returning  from  his  mother's  bed- 
side, went  hurriedly  through  his  grounds,  and  on 
upstairs  to  his  own  room.  There,  waiting  for 
him,  was  Graham.  The  boy  knew  at  once  the 
truth. 

292 


MR.  BARTLETT  SEES  THE  MACHINE 

"  Father,"  he  cried,  and  put  his  arms  about  the 

tall  figure. 

They  stood  so,  the  man  finding  comfort  in  the 
contact  of  his  boy.  And  so  Mrs.  Bartlett,  returned 
temporarily  from  a  journey,  found  them. 

She  started  back  at  sight  of  them  thus  together. 
They  seemed  in  their  new  intimacy  to  have  shut 
her  out,  quite  out  of  their  lives.  "  I've  been  look- 
ing for  you,  Graham,"  she  began,  and  then  caught 
her  breath  sharply  at  the  look  the  boy  gave  her; 
not  a  premeditated  cold  look,  only  one  that  he 
might  bestow  upon  a  stranger. 

"  Father  has  just  come  home,"  he  said; 
"  grandmother  —  " 

But  he  did  not  finish.  He  saw  that  his  mother 
understood  that  Drusilla  had  gone  away.  Mr. 
Bartlett  spoke  to  his  wife.  "  I  heard  this  morning 
that  you  had  returned  to  stay  for  a  day.  I'm 
afraid  the  tents  and  the  children  will  still  disfigure 
our  grounds  for  some  time." 

His  bitterness  made  her  wince.  But  she 
answered  calmly.  "  Yes,  I  returned  while  you 
were  absent." 

"  For  a  day,  as  I  was  told?  " 
"  My  plans  must  change  now  of  necessity  — 
my  trip  to  Italy  —  " 

"  Why?  "  he  asked.     "  Nothing  that  has  hap- 


294  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

pened  need  interfere  with  any  of  your  plans,  your 
mode  of  living.  My  mother  would  not  wish  that." 

She  broke  forth  then,  the  color  surging  up  into 
her  face.  "  Why  are  you  so  unjust  to  me?  Did 
I  suggest  that  you  neglect  your  mother?  You 
could  not  expect  me  to  take  your  place." 

"  No  —  "  he  spoke  sadly.  "  No,  I  could  not 
expect  that.  Believe  me,  please,  when  I  say  that 
I  put  blame  on  no  one  but  myself.  Money  —  that 
has  been  the  main  thing  in  life.  Money,  and  more 
money.  There  was  always  need  for  all  I  could 
make."  His  eyes  swept  her  lovely  gown;  the 
costly  cape  across  her  arm.  Thought,  much 
money,  much  time  had  gone  into  building  her  per- 
fect completeness.  "  No.  A  man  cannot  expect 
another,  even  a  wife,  to  fulfill  his  sacred  obli- 
gations." 

Perhaps  the  thought  came  to  her  that  a  wife 
need  not  ask  so  much,  ask  so  demandingly  that  a 
man  must  yield  his  finest  dreams,  his  every  hour  to 
fulfill  her  wishes.  The  color  deepened  and  deep- 
ened in  her  cheek.  Perhaps  she  remembered  their 
first  months  together  when  in  the  grayest  days 
he  saw  color,  because  they  belonged  one  to  the 
other. 

They  had  both  forgotten  Graham.  She  looked 
at  the  boy  now.  He  stood  regarding  her  with 


MR.  BARTLETT  SEES  THE  MACHINE        295 

that  strange  aloofness  in  his  eyes,  that  sharp  ques- 
tion.   She  felt  all  at  once  very  lonely. 

For  Graham,  she  knew,  was  estranged  from 
her!  And  now  she  knew  that  she  desired  most  of 
all  his  love  in  all  its  purity.  Her  social  strivings, 
her  desire  for  leadership  balanced  against 
Graham's  former  worshipful,  chivalrous  love  for 
her,  dwindled  to  a  pitiful  insignificance. 

And  with  the  value  of  her  child's  love,  she  sud- 
denly realized  the  older  mother's  longings  —  the 
one  who  had  just  gone  on.  An  old  mother  —  in 
her  full  years  mourning  for  the  child  she  had 
borne,  nursed,  and  succored.  Grieving,  that  in 
his  manhood  he  had  gone  from  her;  that  he  had 
seemingly  forgotten  in  his  feverish  striving  after 
wealth  the  lessons  she  had  sought  to  teach  him. 

Was  the  wife  to  blame  for  this?  But  some 
stern  sense  of  justice  derided  her  efforts  to  excul- 
pate herself.  She  remembered  how  she  had  held 
the  power  to  influence  him  in  the  early  days  of 
their  marriage;  he  had  believed  so  wonderfully  in 
the  whiteness  of  her  ideals.  He  was  malleable 
material  in  her  fingers. 

But  above  and  beyond  his  love  she  had  put 
wealth  and  fine  position.  He  had  given  her  both, 
but  now  before  her  stood  her  husband  and  son 
estranged  from  her. 


296  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

She  moved  away  at  last.  With  new  awakening 
power  of  perception,  she  felt  she  was  stripped  of 
everything  of  worth.  When  she  was  half-way 
down  the  wide  hall  she  heard  a  step  behind  her. 
She  paused,  waited,  and  in  a  moment  Graham  was 
beside  her. 

He  put  his  hand  in  hers.  "  Mother,"  he  said, 
quietly. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  the  near  tears.  She  clung 
to  his  hand  as  though  he  would  protect  her  against 
her  own  bitter  thoughts. 

"  Does  your  head  ache  ?  "  he  asked.  There  was 
solicitude  in  his  voice,  but  still  that  strange,  dread- 
ful aloofness,  more  dreadful  because  he  was  not 
conscious  of  it. 

"  No,"  she  answered.  She  looked  down  at 
him  and  out  of  an  impulse  she  cried:  "  Do  you 
still  love  me,  Graham?  " 

"  I  love  you,  mother,"  he  answered  gravely. 
But  she  knew  then  that  there  would  be  work  on 
her  part  before  once  again  she  stood  to  him  his 
ideal. 

She  had  dwelt  in  the  core  of  his  heart;  perhaps 
in  time  she  could  once  more  move  near  to  that 
sanctified  place.  The  intimate  human  relation, 
husband  and  wife,  parent  and  child  —  she  knew 
with  pain  and  yearning  that  all  else  —  position, 


MR.  BARTLETT  SEES  THE  MACHINE        297 

great  wealth,  worldly  power  —  were  vain  beside 
the  joy  of  those  relations  in  their  purest. 

Perhaps  a  week  later  Suzanna  was  washing  the 
supper  dishes,  and  Maizie  wiping  them.  Their 
mother  was  upstairs  with  Peter  and  the  baby,  Mr. 
Procter  in  the  attic.  As  Maizie  finished  the  last 
dish,  the  door  bell  rang. 

Suzanna  ran  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Oh,  mother,  shall  I  answer?  "  she  cried. 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  Mrs.  Procter  called  down. 
"  Peter  has  a  stone  bruise  and  I'm  using  lini- 
ment." 

So  Suzanna  went  to  the  front  door.  She  opened 
it  to  Mr.  Bartlett. 

"  Good  evening,  Suzanna,"  he  said  in  a  friendly 
voice.  "  Is  your  father  at  home?  " 

"  He's  upstairs  in  the  attic.  Shall  I  take  you 
to  him?  "  asked  Suzanna  very  politely. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  consult  him  first  as  to 
that,  Suzanna.  He  may  not  wish  to  be  disturbed." 

"  Well,  I  will.  Won't  you  sit  down  in  the 
parlor?" 

Mr.  Bartlett,  half  smiling,  followed  the  small 
figure  into  the  room  designated.  He  looked  about 
interestedly  after  Suzanna  had  gone.  A  kerosene 
lamp  set  upon  a  center  table  sent  an  apologetic 


298  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

light  over  the  shabby  furniture.  Above  the  mantel 
with  its  velvet  cover  and  statuette  of  a  crying 
baby,  was  a  picture  of  Suzanna,  a  "  crayon,"  Mr. 
Bartlett  amusingly  surmised.  The  small  face 
looked  out  with  a  distorted  artificial  smile  quite 
unknown  to  the  face  it  sought  to  represent.  Yet 
Suzanna's  aura  was  visible,  Mr.  Bartlett  thought. 
That  little  girl  who  so  simply  and  lovingly  had 
called  his  mother  Drusilla  because  no  one  in  the 
world  was  left  to  do  so !  A  fragrance  straight 
from  his  heart  made  the  ugly  crayon  suddenly  a 
thing  of  beauty,  showing  forth  a  child's  soul. 

Suzanna  returned,  panting  a  little.  She  had 
run  upstairs  and  down  again.  "  Father  wants  you 
to  go  right  up,"  she  said.  "  And  maybe  when 
I've  finished  the  dishes  I'll  come  back,  too." 

So  he  followed  her  up  the  narrow  stairs. 
Suzanna  gravely  told  him  that  every  other  step 
creaked,  except  if  you  put  your  foot  carefully  in 
the  middle.  At  the  attic  door  she  left  him. 

Mr.  Procter  looked  up  as  his  visitor  entered. 
"  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Bartlett,"  he  said  cor- 
dially. "  It's  not  very  light  in  here,  but  we  can 
see  to  talk.  Sit  down." 

Mr.  Bartlett  took  the  proffered  chair.  He 
looked  about  the  dim  room  and  could  see  in  out- 
line the  machine. 


MR.  BARTLETT  SEES  THE  MACHINE        299 

"  David  has  told  you  something  of  my  inven- 
tion, I  remember  and  its  object,"  said  Mr. 
Procter. 

"  Yes,  David  has  told  me,"  Mr.  Bartlett 
replied.  "  You're  attempting  a  tremendously  big 
thing,  Mr.  Procter.  David  told  me  about  the 
colors  and  your  theory  of  their  meaning." 

"  Yes.  Did  David  tell  you,  too,  that  my  daugh- 
ter Suzanna  produced  on  the  plate  of  the  machine 
purple  and  gold?  In  my  book  I  had  written  down 
'  Purple :  high  talent  for  writing.'  ' 

Mr.  Bartlett  hesitated  a  moment  before 
replying. 

"  But  it  hasn't  been  proven  that  Suzanna  can 
write.  You  will  have  to  wait  a  few  years  for 
evidence." 

"  True,  still  she  is  talented.  I  may  dare  say 
that  even  though  I  happen  to  be  her  father.  She 
possesses  an  insatiable  curiosity  concerning  life, 
the  divine  birthright  of  the  artist,  the  creator." 

u  Still  I'm  not  convinced  that  such  a  machine  as 
David  drew  for  me  is  possible,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett. 
"  I  can  understand  that  if  you  place  a  person  in 
contact  with  an  instrument  and  proceed  to  change 
his  circulation  by  arousing  his  emotions  that  chem- 
ical change  might  be  registered  upon  a  sensitive 
plate.  But  how  can  a  mere  machine  be  so  miracu- 


300  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

lous  as  to  show  forth  by  color  or  any  other  method 
one's  '  meaning  '  ?  It's  too  big  for  my  imagina- 
tion, that's  all.  There  are  so  many  parts  that  go 
to  make  up  a  human  being,  so  many  points  in  his 
favor  for  a  certain  line  of  work,  so  many 
against  it." 

Still  the  inventor  did  not  speak.  And  so  Mr. 
Bartlett  continued:  "There's  a  man's  state  of 
health,  his  sympathies,  his  hereditary  tendencies; 
all  to  be  considered." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  Mr.  Procter  answered  at  last, 
"  the  elements  you  enumerate  are  but  results  of 
evolution,  of  environment,  of  education,  and  do 
not  alter  the  purpose  for  which  the  man  was  born. 
And  that  purpose,  even  though  given  no  chance  to 
work  itself  out,  is  so  vital  a  part  of  the  man  that 
it  remains  an  undying  flame  going  on  into  eter- 
nity." 

Mr.  Bartlett  did  not  answer. 

"  Will  you  let  me  make  a  color  test  of  you,  Mr. 
Bartlett?  "  the  inventor  asked  at  length. 

"  Yes,  though  I  am  very  skeptical." 

He  seated  himself  before  the  machine.  Mr. 
Procter  let  the  helmet  down  till  it  was  just  above 
the  subject's  head.  "  You  see  no  part  of  the  instru- 
ment touches  you,"  he  said.  "  There's  no  oppor- 
tunity to  say  that  chemical  changes  in  the 


MR.  BARTLETT  SEES  THE  MACHINE        301 

circulation  are  the  cause  of  the  color  produced. 
Now  please  watch  the  glass  plate."  Mr.  Bartlett 
did  as  directed.  For  some  moments  the  plate 
remained  clear,  then  rays  of  color  played  upon  it. 

"  Green,  a  rare,  soft  green,"  said  Mr.  Procter. 
He  went  on  slowly  but  without  hesitation.  '  The 
color  of  poetry.  That  color  belongs  in  one  who 
lies  on  the  grass  and  gazes  at  the  sky  —  and 
dreams;  dreams  to  waken  men's  souls  with  the 
beauty  of  his  music  —  a  poet,  a  maker  of  songs, 
to  uplift,  to  keep  man's  eyes  from  the  ground." 

The  light  faded,  the  little  clicking  sound  ceased, 
and  yet  Mr.  Bartlett  did  not  speak.  If  in  his 
mind  there  dwelt  the  memory  of  an  overstuffed 
drawer  with  reams  of  paper  covered  with  verses,  he 
said  nothing.  His  face  gave  no  evidence  to  the 
inventor  of  his  thoughts. 

At  last  he  roused  himself,  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. "  My  dear  man,"  he  said,  "  did  you  ever 
hear  of  a  poet  at  heart  making  a  fortune  as  I  have 
done?" 

"  It  could  be  done,"  returned  Mr.  Procter 
sadly,  "  even  by  a  poet." 

Mr.  Bartlett  rose.  "  I  did  not  aver,"  continued 
Mr.  Procter,  "  that  you  could  only  be  a  poet.  I 
said  that  your  real  meaning  was  to  give  to  the 
world  the  rare  visions  which  grew  in  your  heart." 


302  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Mr.  Bartlett  gazed  with  some  astonishment  at 
the  machine. 

"  The  day  when  Suzanna  was  born,  as  I  stood 
looking  down  at  her,  the  thought  came  winging  to 
me  that  she  had  come  charged  with  a  purpose 
which  she  alone  could  fulfill.  And  so  was  planted 
the  first  seed  in  my  mind  for  the  making  of  my 
machine." 

Mr.  Bartlett  spoke  again  after  a  silence  given 
to  some  pondering. 

"  Still,  Procter,  have  you  thought  how  imprac- 
tical the  machine  must  prove  to  be?  The  world  is 
after  all  as  it  is.  Suppose  a  man,  a  poor  young 
man,  has  a  rare  gift.  He  must  eat  to  live;  he  may 
have  to  support  others.  How  is  he  going  to 
develop  that  gift?" 

The  inventor's  face  was  suddenly  filled  with  a 
fine  light.  He  laid  his  hand  on  Mr.  Bartlett's 
arm.  "  There,  sir,  as  I  told  John  Massey,  is 
where  the  capitalist  seeking  to  invest  his  money  in 
the  highest  way  finds  his  great  chance.  He  helps 
that  young  man  to  live  in  comfort  while  he  is 
developing  his  talent." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett,  "  it's  all  very  inter- 
esting, and  if  you  will  let  me,  I'll  do  all  I  can  to 
help  you.  We  can  talk  of  that  at  some  other 
time."  He  paused,  and  then  said:  "  I  hear  John 


MR.  BARTLETT  SEES  THE  MACHINE        303 

Massey  has  bought  out  the  hardware  store  here. 
I  can't  understand  his  object,  but  you  may  lose 
your  position.     Have  you  thought  of  what  you 
could  do  in  that  event?  " 
"  No,  I  haven't." 

"  I  came  primarily  to  see  your  machine,"  Mr. 
Bartlett  continued,  "  but  I  had  another  object  too. 
You  know  I  have  had  tents  put  up  in  my  yard  for 
those  who  were  made  homeless  by  the  fire.  And 
now  I  find  it  necessary  to  go  away  in  order  to 
attend  to  some  large  interests.  Can  I  make  you 
my  steward  over  these  people  —  at  a  salary, 
while  I  am  away? 

"  There  will  be  enough  for  you  to  do,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Bartlett.  "  My  wife  is  away;  my  boy 
Graham  will  soon  be  in  the  city  with  his  tutor.  I 
shall  be  back  here  before  the  severe  weather  sets 
in  and  see  that  these  people  in  some  way  are  com- 
fortably housed  and  provided  for;  but  in  the 
meantime  I  want  you." 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  do  all  I  can,"  said  Mr.  Procter 
at  last;  then  fervently,  "  and  thank  you." 

Someone  knocked  softly,  and  Suzanna  entered. 

"  This  special  letter  came  for  you,  daddy,"  she 

said.     "  Mother  said  I  might  bring  it  up  to  you." 

Mr.  Procter  took  the  letter,  looked  curiously  at 

it  before  tearing  it  open.    He  glanced  through  its 


304  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

contents,  held  it  a  second  while  he  looked  away 
then  he  went  through  it  again.    It  ran : 

Dear  Procter: 

You've  known  for  some  time  that  Job  Doane  is  run- 
ning the  hardware  shop  in  my  interest.  I  bought  the 
place  for  a  future  purpose,  never  mind  that  purpose,  it 
isn't  of  interest  to  you  or  anyone  in  Anchorville.  I  am 
confined  to  my  room  with  an  attack  of  rheumatism,  so  I 
can't  see  you  to  talk  over  a  scheme  which  I  have  in  mind. 
I  will  say  that  I  have  concluded  all  arrangements  to  re- 
build homes  for  the  men  and  their  families  who  were 
burned  out  some  time  ago,  and  I  want  you  to  act  as  my 
agent.  No  sentiment  in  building  these  up-to-date  houses, 
let  me  assure  you.  Only  perhaps  I've  given  some  thought 
to  Suzanna's  little  wrist  chain.  Come  to  me  within  a 
day  or  two  and  we'll  talk  over  salary,  and  other  things 
of  interest  to  you. 

Yours, 

John  Massey. 

Suzanna  plunged  into  the  ensuing  quiet.  "  Is 
there  any  answer,  daddy?  "  she  asked. 

Mr.  Procter  looked  at  his  small  daughter 
through  a  mist,  then  at  Mr.  Bartlett  still  standing 
regarding  him  somewhat  curiously.  "  No,  no 
answer,"  he  said  at  last,  "  but  I  want  to  see  your 
mother  —  right  away." 


BOOK  III 


S 


CHAPTER  XXII 

HAPPY  DAYS 

UMMER  once  again,  with  the  flowers 
abloom  and  all  the  richness  of  the  season  scat- 
tered lavishly  about.  The  Procter  house  seemed 
more  colorful  too,  perhaps  because  it  had  acquired 
within  some  late  months  a  new  coat  of  paint. 

Once  inside  if  you  were  familiar  enough  to  go 
upstairs,  you  could  not  find  the  steps  which  had 
been  wont  to  creak.    And  peeping  into  the  parlor 
you  could  see  that  some  pretty  new  furniture  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  shaky  old  lounge  and  chairs ; 
one  good  marine  picture  hung  between  the  win- 
dows and  a  new  rug  lay  upon  the  hardwood  floor. 
Two  years  had  gone  since  the  fire,  two  years 
bringing  some  changes.     Suzanna  had  shot  up. 
She  was  a  tall,  slim  girl  now,  though  with  the 
same  dark,  questioning  eyes.     She  stood  one  Sat- 
urday morning  in  the  kitchen  making  a  cake,  yes, 
actually  stirring  the  mixture  all  by  herself  in  the 
brown  earthen  vessel. 

Her  mother,  hovering  near,  was  offering  com- 
ment and  a  few  directions.     Between  times  she 

307 


308  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

attended  to  the  "  baby,"  a  baby  no  longer  since  he 
was  nearly  four  years  old.  Maizie,  coming  in 
from  the  yard  with  Peter  behind  her,  stopped 
short  at  sight  of  Suzanna's  work. 

"  When  can  I  make  a  cake,  mother? "  she 
asked.  Her  small  face  was  as  plump,  as  child- 
like as  ever.  The  same  sweetness  of  expression 
was  hers,  the  same  admiration  in  her  eyes  for  her 
"  big  "  sister. 

'  When  you're  as  old  as  Suzanna,  I  guess, 
Maizie,"  Mrs.  Procter  answered.  "  What  did 
Mrs.  Reynolds  say?  " 

Peter  answered  before  Maizie  could  speak, 
thereby  gaining  a  reproving  look  from  her. 
"  She's  coming  over  to  see  you,  mother.  She  says 
she  wants  to  ask  you  something,  anyway."  Peter 
went  to  the  door,  gave  a  sharp  whistle,  a  sharper 
direction  and  returned.  "  Jerry's  out  there.  Gra- 
ham Bartlett's  opened  up  his  house,  and  David's 
brought  my  dog  back." 

Still  Peter's  dog,  you  see.  "  Oh,  I  want  to  see 
Jerry,  may  he  come  in,  mother?  "  Suzanna  asked. 

Mrs.  Procter  nodded.  She  was  now  engaged  in 
giving  the  four-year-old  his  ten  o'clock  luncheon 
of  bread  and  milk.  "  But  don't  let  him  get  into 
anything,  Peter,"  she  admonished. 

Peter  promised,  with  a  sigh  in  his  heart  for  the 


HAPPY  DAYS  309 


tenacious  prejudices  of  woman.  Jerry  at  a  word 
entered  the  kitchen  door.  He  came  in  slowly, 
paused  and  regarded  Mrs.  Procter  searchingly. 
He  was  a  handsome  animal  now.  His  coat  was 
well  brushed,  his  hair  long  and  glossy. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  "you've  been 
taught  good  manners,  Jerry." 

He  wagged  his  tail  vigorously;  then  further  to 
show  himself  off,  he  sat  down  and  held  out  a  be- 
guiling paw  to  Mrs.  Procter.  Maizie  cried  out 
in  delight. 

"  Oh,  can't  we  keep  him  now,  mother?  Isn't 
he  cunning?  " 

Peter  turned  quickly  upon  his  sister.  '  Would 
that  be  fair?  "  he  sternly  asked.  His  voice  deep- 
ened suddenly.  "  You  wouldn't,  any  one  of  you, 
even  look  at  him  when  he  was  poor  and  dirty  and 
afraid.  And  now  after  David  has  loved  him  and 
washed  him  and  taught  him  how  to  behave,  you 
want  to  keep  him.  Come  along,  Jerry." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  Peter,  with  dig- 
nity, stalked  from  out  the  kitchen.  He  left  an 
eloquent  silence  behind  him.  "  Should  we  have 
kept  the  dog  when  he  was  dirty  and  lonely, 
mother?  "  asked  Maizie,  interestedly. 

"  Why,  I  don't  think  so,  Maizie,"  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter answered  slowly.  "  Really,  you  remember  I'd 


310  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

had  so  much  trouble  that  summer  with  stray  dogs 
of  Peter's  that  my  patience  was  at  an  end." 

Maizie  was  forming  another  question  when  she 
was  interrupted  by  a  hearty  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  Suzanna  cried.  She  was  testing 
the  oven  as  her  mother  had  taught  her  and  she 
turned  a  very  important,  if  badly  flushed,  face  to 
the  visitor. 

"  I'm  baking  a  chocolate  cake,  Mrs.  Reynolds," 
she  announced. 

"  Fine,  Suzanna,"  cried  Mrs.  Reynolds  heart- 
ily. She  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the  kitchen. 
Two  beautiful  children  both  with  large  dark  eyes 
and  dark  curls,  exquisitely  clean,  followed  her. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  was  a  little  plumper,  and  with 
a  softness  in  her  eyes  which  seemed  of  recent 
growth.  She  lifted  the  smaller  child,  the  girl, 
upon  a  kitchen  chair,  watched  the  boy  in  his 
pilgrimage  after  the  darting  cat,  and  began : 

"  I'm  glad  to  help  with  the  christening  robe  for 
the  Massey  grandson,  Mrs.  Procter,"  she  said; 
"  and  I  think  'tis  a  fine  idea  —  sort  of  community 
dress  made  by  those  who  liked  Miss  Massey." 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  the  idea,  Mrs.  Rey- 
nolds," said  Mrs.  Procter.  "  Here,  take  this 
chair." 

Mrs.  Reynolds  sat' down.     "The  fine  boy  you 


HAPPY  DAYS  311 


have  there,"   she   said,   indicating   the   "baby," 
"  he's  a  bit  like  Suzanna." 

"We  all  think  he's  very  much  like  his  eldest 
sister,"  said  Mrs.  Procter.  She  raised  the  small 
boy  and  held  him  close  for  a  moment.  When 
she  put  him  down,  he  wandered  off  toward  the 
popular  cat. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  Mrs.  Procter,"  said 
Mrs.  Reynolds,  "  what  material  you  think  will 
make  up  best  for  a  Sunday  dress  for  Margaret 
here."  She  paused,  smiled,  and  flashing  a  mis- 
chievous glance  at  Suzanna,  finished,  "  It'll  have 
to  have  lace,  says  Margaret,  and  I  suppose  she'll 
want  the  goods  cut  away  from  underneath." 

Suzanna,  perched  near  the  oven  door  watching 
the  precious  cake,  turned  to  look  at  Mrs.  Rey- 
nolds. A  flame  lit  within  her  eyes;  she  had  never 
forgotten  the  anguish  engendered  by  her  moth- 
er's refusal  to  cut  away  the  goods  from  under  the 
pink  dress;  then  the  expression  softened.  Was  it 
not  on  that  occasion,  too,  she  had  learned  the 
dearness  of  that  same  mother? 

"  There,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Reynolds,  "  I 
shouldn't  have  teased  you,  Suzanna."  Her  eyes 
grew  tender.  "  I'd  never  have  thought  seriously 
of  adopting  my  little  children  here,  dear  lamb,  if 
you  hadn't  first  adopted  yourself  out  to  me." 


312  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Suzanna's  face  grew  luminous.  "  Oh,  do  you 
mean  that,  Mrs.  Reynolds?"  she  cried. 

"  I  do  just  that,  every  word,  Dear  Heart. 
Why,  the  night  I  put  you  to  bed  and  you  called 
me  '  mother  '  I  shall  never  forget,  never.  And 
then  the  truths  you  spoke  to  Reynolds!  " 

"  He's  happy  now,  isn't  he?  "  asked  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter. 

Mrs.  Reynolds  paused  impressively  before  an- 
swering: "Do  you  know,"  she  said  at  length, 
"  he  forgets  often  to  remember  that  the  children 
are  not  his  very  own.  The  little  Margaret  there 
creeps  into  his  lap  nights,  calls  him  daddy,  and 
melts  the  heart  of  him.  And  the  boy  with  his 
quaintness,  follows  him  about  the  house  on  Sat- 
urdays, and  Reynolds  says  often  enough:  '  He'll 
be  a  great  man,  this  chap,  Peggy.  He  says  some 
of  the  things  I  thought  when  I  was  his  age.' 
He's  taken  to  calling  me  Peggy  since  the  children 
came  to  make  a  distinction,  the  little  girl  bearing 
my  name,  you  see." 

Mrs.  Procter  nodded.  Margaret  stirred  un- 
easily on  her  chair.  "  Mother,"  she  asked,  "  I 
want  to  hold  the  Pussy,  too.  I'll  keep  my  apron 
clean." 

"  And  that  you  shall,  my  Sweet,"  said  Mrs. 
Reynolds,  her  face  flushing  at  the  title  as  though 


HAPPY  DAYS  313 


it  would  never  grow  old  to  her;   "  come  then,  go 
to  the  cat,  my  pretty  lass." 

Suzanna  removed  her  cake  from  the  oven.  It 
was  a  beautiful  object,  and  Suzanna  regarded  it 
with  pride.  She  took  off  her  apron,  looked 
around  the  kitchen  and  then  turning  to  her 
mother,  put  her  request. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  Td  like  to  go  to  the  big 

house  and  see  the  Eagle  Man  and  Miss  Massey." 

"Saturday   morning?"    asked    Mrs.    Procter, 

dubiously.     "  Well,  I  suppose  that  it  won't  really 

matter." 

"  I'm  going  to  see  Daphne,"  Maizie  an- 
nounced. 

"  Remember  to  be  at  home  by  noon,"  said  Mrs. 
Procter.  "  Father  may  be  here  for  luncheon." 

"  I'll  remember,  mother,"  said  Suzanna.  She 
kissed  her  mother,  said  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Rey- 
nolds and  started  happily  away.  She  reached  the 
house  at  the  top  of  the  hill  in  a  short  time.  The 
same  uniformed  man  as  of  old  gave  her  imme- 
diate admittance. 

"  Mr.  Massey  is  in  the  library,"  he  said,  evinc- 
ing no  surprise  at  Suzanna's  unconventional  ap- 
pearance. 

In  the  doorway  of  the  library  Suzanna  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  for  the  sound  of  voices  came  to 


314  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

her.  Then  she  went  forward,  and  there,  stand- 
ing near  the  white  marble  mantelpiece  was  the 
Eagle  Man,  near  him  Suzanna's  father. 

"  Daddy,"  Suzanna  cried,  and  ran  to  him. 

Mr.  Procter  turned.  His  face,  slightly  older 
than  when  he  was  an  employee  of  Job  Doane  of 
the  hardware  shop,  was  still  that  of  the  idealist, 
the  lover  of  men.  Yet  there  was  a  something 
added.  Perhaps  his  well-fitting  clothes  gave  him 
the  new  air  of  efficiency,  of  directness. 

"  I  didn't  know  you'd  be  here  with  the  Eagle 
Man,  daddy,"  Suzanna  cried. 

Her  father  smiled  at  her.  The  Eagle  Man 
spoke.  "  Your  father  is  my  right-hand  man,  re- 
member, little  girl,"  he  answered.  He  brought 
out  the  sentence  clearly  with  no  strain  of  embar- 
rassment. 

"  Right-hand  man,"  Suzanna  repeated  thought- 
fully. "  I  don't  quite  know  what  that  means." 

"  Well,  it  means  that  your  father  looks  after 
my  interests  in  a  very  capable  way,"  old  John 
Massey  returned.  "  Don't  you  remember  how 
the  new  homes  went  up  under  his  direction  for 
my  employees?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Suzanna,  "  those 
beautiful  new,  brick  houses,  and  the  clean  yards 
for  the  babies  to  play  in." 


HAPPY  DAYS  315 


"  And  now  your  father  is  in  my  mill  as  my 
superintendent,  looking  after  the  men."  He 
paused.  "  How  would  you  describe  your  way 
with  them,  Mr.  Procter?  " 

"  Looking  after  them  humanly,  perhaps,"  put 
in  Mr.  Procter  simply. 

"  All  right,  we'll  let  it  go  just  that  way.  In 
any  event  if  you're  making  them  happier  by  shift- 
ing them  about  a  bit,  trying  to  fit  them  by  natural 
adaptability  to  their  jobs  and  so  increasing  effi- 
ciency, I  am  satisfied  with  any  way  you  put  it." 

Mr.  Procter  stood  a  little  ill  at  ease.  It  was 
so  very  rare  for  old  John  Massey  to  so  graciously 
express  himself,  almost  unheard  of. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  Eagle  Man,  softly,  "  I'm 
using  Suzanna  as  a  mask;  I'm  telling  her  what  I 
couldn't  say  to  your  face,  Richard  Procter."  He 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  Richard  Procter  let  his 
own  fall  into  it.  The  two  men  stood  thus  bound 
in  a  spirit  of  perfect  friendship. 

Suzanna  went  on  upstairs.  She  found  "  Miss 
Massey  "  in  a  large  room  with  pink  curtains  at 
the  windows,  pink  rugs  on  the  floor  and  even  pink 
chairs  and  sofas.  Like  a  sea  shell,  Suzanna 
thought.  The  baby  lay  in  a  beautiful  rose-tinted 
crib  drawn  near  the  window,  and  above  the  crib 
the  new  mother  bent. 


316  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

She  turned  when  Suzanna  knocked  softly. 

"  Oh,  Suzanna,"  she  cried  at  once,  a  glad  note 
in  her  voice.  She  ran  across  the  room  and  en- 
folded the  little  visitor  close  within  her  arms. 

"  And  you've  come  back  with  a  baby,"  Suzanna 
cried,  after  a  time. 

"  Yes,  come  and  see  him.  He's  named  after 
my  father." 

Suzanna  went  to  the  cradle  and  looked  down. 
"  He's  a  nice  fat  baby,"  she  admitted.  She  really 
didn't  think  that  he  was  pretty,  but  that  she  did 
not  say. 

"  And  don't  you  love  Saturday  nights  when  it 
rains  and  you're  safe  indoors  with  Robert  and  the 
baby?  "  asked  Suzanna,  interestedly. 

"  Oh,  dear  girl,  I  do,  I  do.  What  a  picture 
you  painted,  and  how  I've  tried  to  make  it  true." 

"  And  have  you  a  cross  man  with  buttons  to 
jump  at  your  bidding?"  Suzanna  pursued. 

"  No,  dear;  we  have  a  little  home  with  a  gar- 
den, where  in  the  summer  all  the  old-fashioned 
flowers  bloom.  I  do  most  of  my  own  work,  and 
care  altogether  for  my  baby.  And  I'm  happier 
than  ever  before  in  my  life.  And  my  father  is  no 
longer  angry  with  me.  He  wrote  asking  me  to 
pay  him  a  visit  after  he  knew  he  had  a  grandson 
named  for  him." 


HAPPY  DAYS  317 


She  bent  above  her  baby  for  a  moment,  then 
turned  her  shining  face  to  Suzanna.  "  And  now, 
tell  me  about  yourself,  Suzanna,  and  your  loved 
ones." 

Suzanna  paused  to  think.  "  Well,  you  know 
father  doesn't  weigh  out  nails  any  more;  he's  the 
Eagle  Man's  right-hand  man."  She  remembered 
the  phrase  and  brought  it  out  roundly.  "  And 
father  helped  build  all  those  nice  new  homes  for 
the  people  who  work  in  the  Massey  Steel  Mills. 

"  My  father's  a  great  man,"  finished  Suzanna, 
simply  as  always  when  stating  this  incontroverti- 
ble fact.  "  And  his  Machine's  nearly  ready  now 
for  the  world  to  know  about  it." 

"  Oh.  oh,  Suzanna  !    And  then?  " 

4i  And  then  many,  many  people  are  going  to  be 
happy  ever  after  because  my  father  thought  of 
that  machine  and  worked  on  it  for  years  and 
years.1' 

After  a  moment  Suzanna  continued:  "And 
my  dear,  dear  Drusilla  set  off  on  a  far  journey 
and  didn't  come  back.  And  Graham  cried,  and 
went  away  for  a  long  time,  and  Eartlett  Villa 
was  closed.  But  they've  come  back  now  and  it's 
open  again.  And  David  and  Daphne  are  quite 
well,  thank  you.  And  Mrs.  Reynolds  has  two  lit- 
tle children  of  her  own," 


318  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  said  Robert's  wife.  "  You're 
a  very  happy  little  girl,  then,  aren't  you,  dear?  " 

"  Oh,  very  happy,"  said  Suzanna.  "  I  love  so 
many  people,  you  see.  And  I  have  a  sister,  Mai- 
zie,  who  was  once  smiled  upon  by  a  very  great 
Man."  Her  listener  was  puzzled,  but  she  asked 
no  questions.  It  didn't  seem  to  her  the  right  mo- 
ment to  ask  an  explanation.  Some  day  she  would. 
But  Suzanna  told  the  story  of  Maizie's  rare  selec- 
tion, dwelling  upon  it  with  a  degree  of  wondrous 
awe,  for  she  believed  the  story  now.  It  stood 
so  clear  to  her,  so  real,  that  it  had  a  fine  influence 
upon  her  inner  life.  Often  when  swift  anger 
surged  through  her,  anger  directed  against  the 
little  sister,  she  brought  to  bear  a  strong  control, 
as  she  remembered  Maizie's  great  awakening. 

She  returned  to  her  surroundings  in  a  moment. 
"  I  must  be  going,  Miss  Massey.  I  wish  you'd 
come  to  see  us.  We've  got  a  lovely  new  rug  in 
the  front  room  and  mother  has  two  new  dresses 
for  herself.  She  is  awfully  pretty  in  them." 

"  I  certainly  shall  come  to  visit  you,"  Miss 
Massey  promised,  kissing  the  little  girl. 

Suzanna  ran  downstairs.  She  did  not  stop  at 
the  library,  fearing  she  would  reach  home  late  for 
luncheon. 

But  she  was  just  in  time  to  set  the  table.     Her 


HAPPY  DAYS  319 


father  had  not  yet  arrived.  Mother,  of  course, 
was  there  and  with  an  eager  face  full  of  news, 
delightful  news,  Suzanna  guessed. 

"  Suzanna,  dear,  what  do  you  think?  Mrs. 
Graham  Woods  Bartlett  was  here  during  your 
absence." 

"  To  visit  us,  mother?  Oh,  tell  me  all  about 
it,"  Suzanna  cried. 

"  She  wants  to  take  you  and  Maizie  and  Peter 
to  the  seashore  for  a  whole  month.  There, 
Suzanna  !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

Suzanna  stood  absolutely  still.  Then  ex- 
claimed: "  To  the  seashore,  mother!  Why  —  I 
don't  think  I  can  stand  the  joy  of  it.  Oh,  mother, 
I'm  too  happy!  " 


M 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

TO  THE  SEASHORE 

RS.  Graham  Woods  Bartlett  sat  in  her  own 
perfectly  appointed  room  one  morning  in 
late  June.  She  sat  quietly,  hands  folded.  She 
could  hear  Graham,  her  son,  downstairs  beneath 
her  window  talking  to  David  and  Daphne.  She 
caught  disconnected  words.  They  floated  to  her 
broken  like  meaningless  flakes  of  snow. 

She  had  just  returned  from  her  call  on  Mrs. 
Procter,  that  impulsive  call  made  on  the  wings 
of  an  impulsive,  quixotic  thought.  There  still  re- 
mained sharp  in  her  memory  the  picture  of  the 
little  home;  the  busy  mother,  washing  out  small 
woolen  garments.  She  had  gone  unconsciously 
prepared  to  patronize  and  had  returned  com- 
pletely shorn  of  her  feeling  of  superiority.  In 
truth,  a  little  envy  for  that  sweet-faced  mother 
was  in  her  heart. 

From  the  time  when  her  husband's  mother 
died,  she  had  not  been  happy.  Pursuits  that  hith- 
erto had  satisfied  her  altogether  lost  their  power. 
New  values  were  slowly  born  in  her.  Still  pos- 

320 


TO  THE  SEASHORE  321 

sessing  a1  degree  of  sensibility  not  killed  by  her 
false  life,  she  had  been  by  the  attitude  of  her 
husband  and  her  son,  able  to  see  herself  clearly. 
Both  had  been  dependent  upon  her  in  a  measure 
for  their  happiness,  and  she  had  failed  them. 
Their  reaction  had  hurt  her  bitterly. 

She  had  tried  in  the  past  two  years  to  make 
amends,  but  some  hurts  heal  slowly.  Perhaps  it 
was  hard  for  her  husband  and  son  to  realize  that 
she  was  trying  to  make  amends.  In  any  event, 
each  went  his  separate  way,  a  household  divided. 
Early  in  the  morning  had  come  the  thought  of 
the  seashore  and  she  had  wasted  no  time  in  seek- 
ing the  little  home.  And  now  its  atmosphere 
filled  her  mind. 

She  heard  Daphne's  young  voice,  and  a  sudden 
rare  pity  filled  her  for  the  motherless  child,  her 
gardener's  daughter.  She  would  ask  Daphne,  too. 

She  went  to  seek  David,  and  as  she  came  upon 
him  spading  a  flower  bed,  the  two  children  with 
him,  a  station  carriage  stopped  before  the  big 
iron  gates  and  her  husband  alighted.  He  had 
been  away  on  one  of  his  long  trips  and  was  now 
returning  home,  unheralded,  unexpected. 

He  came  quickly  down  the  path  and  stopped 
short  at  sight  of  his  wife.  "  I  did  not  think  to 
find  you  here,"  he  said. 


322  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

She  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  looked  closer 
at  her.  "  You  look  a  bit  fagged,"  he  said,  un- 
certainly. Perhaps  he  felt  a  softer  appeal  about 
her  which  took  him  back  to  their  young  days  to- 
gether. 

"  I  am  a  little  tired,"  she  said. 

"  I  thought  you  intended  to  spend  the  sum- 
mer in  the  East,"  he  went  on. 

"  Strangely,  Bartlett  Villa  held  more  fascina- 
tion for  me  than  any  other  place.  I  returned  here 
a  week  ago,"  she  hesitated  before  continuing. 
"  I  obeyed  a  whim  this  morning  and  invited  the 
Procter  children  to  accompany  Graham  and  me 
to  the  seashore  to  spend  a  month." 

He  looked  at  her  incredulously.  "  I  —  I  don't 
understand,"  he  said. 

She  returned  his  gaze,  then  suddenly  she  turned 
from  him  and  hastened  back  to  the  house.  Many 
emotions  bit  at  her,  among  them  anger  with  her 
husband  for  his  difficulty  in  believing  she  had  done 
something  which  would  mean  some  trouble  to 
her;  which  in  the  days  just  behind  she  would  have 
designated  as  impossible,  or  "  boring." 

After  a  moment  he  followed  her  and  overtook 
her  as  she  reached  the  small  side  room  where 
Suzanna  had  once  sat  telling  of  the  poor  people 
who  had  been  burned  out  of  their  homes.  She 


TO  THE  SEASHORE 323 

knew  he  was  near  her,  but  she  gave  no  heed. 
Instead  she  flung  herself  down  in  a  near  chair 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

He  stood,  looking  down  at  her  in  silence.    At 
last  he  let  his  hand  fall  gently  on  her  shoulder. 
"  Ina,"  he  said,  softly. 
She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Dear,"  he  went  on,  "  have  you  and  I  just 
been  playing  at  life?  " 

"  Oh,  it  seems  so,"  she  cried.  "  I  know  I  am 
unhappy,  groping."  She  stood  up  and  put  out  her 
hands  to  him.  He  took  them,  drew  her  close  to 
him.  "  Ina,"  he  said,  "  let  me  go  with  you  and 
the  children  to  the  seashore.  Let's  try  to  know 
one  another  better." 

A  radiance  came  upon  her,  filling  her  eyes.  She 
did  not  speak,  only  she  held  very  fast  to  his  hand, 
as  though  in  the  clasp  she  found  an  anchor. 

There  came  the  glorious  summer  day  marked 
for  the  journey  to  the  seashore.  Suzanna,  Mai- 
zie,  and  Peter  waited  for  the  Bartlett  carriage 
which  was  to  convey  them  to  the  depot.  At  last 
they  heard  it  coming.  At  last  it  stood  before  the 
gate,  and  Daphne  put  her  small  head  out  of  the 
carriage  window.  Then  Graham  opened  the  door 
and  sprang  to  the  ground.  He  said  a  word  to 
David  who  was  driving,  and  ran  up  the  path. 


324  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Maizie  began  to  dance,  Peter  to  whistle.  But 
Suzanna  stood  quite  still,  the  glow  of  anticipation 
falling  from  her  face. 

"Are  you  quije  ready,  Suzanna?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Procter. 

At  the  words  Suzanna's  control  broke.  With  a 
little  cry  she  ran  into  her  mother's  arms.  "  Oh, 
mother,  mother,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  can't  go  away, 
so  far  away  and  leave  you  —  a  whole  month!  " 

Mrs.  Procter  held  the  small  figure  close.  Her 
own  eyes  were  wet,  but  she  spoke  calmly: 

"  Why,  little  girl,  mother  will  be  here  waiting 
for  your  return,  and  longing  to  hear  all  about 
your  good  time.  Come,  dry  your  eyes  and  think 
how  happy  you're  going  to  be." 

"  But  I  know  you'll  be  lonesome,  mother,  and 
so  shall  I  be  for  you." 

"  But  when  you  grow  lonesome,"  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter whispered,  "  just  think  how  lovely  it  will  be 
to  return  home;  and  remember  that  father's  ma- 
chine will  be  given  its  great  test  before  you  come 
back.  Mr.  Bartlett  and  Mr.  Massey  have  made 
all  arrangements." 

Suzanna's  face  brightened;  the  clouds  dispelled 
themselves,  so  she  was  able  to  greet  Graham  with 
much  of  her  old  smile. 

"  All  ready?  "  he  cried  as  he  ran  up  the  steps. 


TO  THE  SEASHORE 325 

"  Father  and  mother  and  a  maid  are  following  in 
another  carriage.    Nancy  is  with  us." 

He  was  quite  plainly  excited  by  some  thought 
deeper  than  the  mere  fact  of  going  to  the  sea- 
shore. Suzanna's  companionship  was  promised 
for  long  days  to  come ;  he  knew  her  eye  for  beauty 
hidden  from  others ;  her  quaint  speech.  And  then, 
too,  a  new  relationship  had  come  to  pass  between 
himself  and  his  mother.  Between  them  an  un- 
derstanding that  made  him  glow. 

It  seemed  but  a  moment  before  they  were  all 
together  in  the  train.  Suzanna  settled  herself  to 
look  out  of  the  window  at  the  passing  landscape, 
so  exhilaratingly  new  to  her.  Maizie  sat  beside 
her,  Peter  across  the  aisle  with  Graham.  Little 
Daphne  was  cuddled  close  to  Mrs.  Bartlett.  Mr. 
Bartlett  was  in  the  dining-car. 

Maizie  whispered  to  her  sister:  "  We've  come 
to  the  future  now,  haven't  we,  Suzanna?" 

"  Why,  you  can't  ever  come  to  the  future," 
returned  Suzanna. 

Maizie  puzzled  a  moment.  "  But  don't  you 
remember,  mother  said  we  might  travel  on  a  train 
some  time  in  the  future?  So  now  we're  doing  it, 
why  haven't  we  come  to  the  future?  " 

"  Because  you  never  can  come  to  the  future," 
Suzanna  repeated.  She  leaned  forward  and 


326  SUZANNA   STIRS  THE  FIRE 

spoke  to  Mrs.  Bartlett.  "  When  you're  living  a 
day  it's  the  present,  isn't  it,  Mrs.  Bartlett?  " 

Mrs.  Bartlett  looked  long  at  the  two  children. 
"  Maizie  thinks  the  future  an  occasion,  I  think," 
she  said,  and  then,  because  lucid  explanation  was 
beyond  her,  she  continued:  "  You  know  we  have 
a  big  cottage  at  the  seashore,  and  the  cottage  is 
close  to  the  water." 

Maizie  it  was  who  at  last  broke  the  thrilling 
silence:  '  Where  there's  an  ocean?  And  where 
you  can  go  wading  and  swimming?  "  she  cried. 

"And  will  there  be  sand?"  asked  Suzanna, 
hanging  upon  the  answer  breathlessly. 

"  Yes,  there's  a  wide  yellow  beach  running  into 
the  ocean  where  you  can  dig  and  build  castles  all 
day,"  said  Mrs.  Bartlett. 

"  Oh,  my  cup  is  full  and  runneth  over,"  said 
Suzanna  solemnly. 

The  train  swept  on  through  small  towns  and 
the  children's  delight  and  amazement  increased. 
And  when  at  noon  the  climax  came,  and  they  all 
went  forward  into  the  dining-car,  they  were  one 
and  all  silent.  No  words  great  enough  were  in 
their  vocabulary  to  express  this  moment. 

Said  Mr.  Bartlett  when  they  were  all  seated: 
"  Now,  children,  you  may  order  just  exactly  what 
you'd  like.  You  first,  Suzanna." 


TO   THE  SEASHORE  327 

"  Well,"  she  said,  without  hesitation,  "  I 
should  like  some  golden  brown  toast  that  isn't 
burned,  with  lots  of  butter  on  it,  and  a  cup  of 
cocoa  with  a  marshmallow  floating  on  top,  and 
at  the  very  last,  a  dish  of  striped  ice  cream  with 
a  cherry  right  in  the  middle." 

Mr.  Bartlett  wrote  the  order  rapidly  on  a  card. 
Each  of  the  children  spoke  out  his  deepest,  per- 
haps his  long-cherished  desire.  Some  of  the 
dishes  were  secretly  and  mercifully  modified  by 
Mrs.  Bartlett,  who  sat  in  enjoyment  of  the  scene. 

"  It's  like  a  dream,  Mrs.  Bartlett,"  said 
Suzanna  when,  dinner  finished,  they  were  all  back 
once  more  in  the  parlor  car.  '  You  don't  think 
we'll  wake  up,  do  you?" 

"  No,  I  think  not;  you'll  simply  get  wider  and 
wider  awake." 

But,  as  the  hours  crept  on  and  as  she  watched 
the  flying  landscape,  the  reaction  to  all  her  excite- 
ment came  and  a  haze  fell  over  everything,  and 
she  slept,  to  awaken  some  time  later,  full  of  con- 
trition. 

She  spoke  anxiously  to  Mrs.  Bartlett:  "Oh, 
I  appreciated  it  all,  Mrs.  Bartlett,  but  my  eyes 
just  closed  down  of  themselves,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Bartlett  smiled.  "  It's  a  long  journey," 
she  said,  "  but  we'll  soon  see  the  end  of  it." 


328  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

At  nine  o'clock  the  train  stopped  for  the  first 
time  since  dark  had  fallen.  "  Here  we  are," 
cried  Mr.  Bartlett.  And  in  a  few  moments  they 
were  all  standing  on  the  platform  of  a  little  rail- 
road station  waiting  while  carriages  were  being 
secured  to  take  them  for  the  night  to  a  hotel 
nestling  on  the  top  of  a  tall  hilL 


M 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  SEASHORE 

ORNING  came  —  a  rather  misty  morning 
that  promised  better  as  the  day  advanced. 
Suzanna,  sleeping  with  Maizie  in  a  small  room  on 
the  second  floor  of  the  hotel,  woke,  gazed  about 
her  unfamiliar  surroundings,  sprang  out  of  bed, 
and  in  her  bare  feet  ran  to  the  window.  There 
before  her  was  a  magnificent  group  of  mountains, 
wooded  with  majestic  trees  whose  tops  seemed  to 
touch  the  sky.  Beneath  the  mountains,  just  at 
their  feet,  a  river  ran,  the  sun  dancing  on  its 
breast.  Suzanna  held  her  breath  in  sheer  awe; 
she  could  not  move  even  to  call  Maizie.  She  felt 
as  though  something  great  out  there  in  the  moun- 
tains called  to  her  spirit  and  though  she  wished 
to  answer  she  could  not  do  so. 

The  tapestry  spread  below  the  mountains  of 
water  and  green  slopes  and  velvet  meadows  sun- 
kissed  too,  called  to  her;  the  artist  in  her  was 
keenly,  deeply  responsive  to  the  call,  still  she 
could  not  answer,  only  stand  and  gaze  and  gaze, 
and  drink  in  the  beauty  that  stretched  before  her. 

329 


330  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

Then  old  Nancy  came  with  hurrying  words, 
waking  Maizie.  "  We  can  stay  in  this  town  but 
two  hours  before  our  train  is  due,"  she  said.  "  So 
you  must  dress  at  once,  Suzanna." 

So  Suzanna  dressed  in  silence,  answering  none 
of  Maizie's  chatter,  as  though  she  had  been  in  a 
far,  unexplored  country  and  had  returned  steeped 
in  the  mysteries  of  that  distant  land. 

Her  silence  still  lay  upon  her  when  after  break- 
fast they  all  set  out  for  a  walk  around  the  historic 
old  town.  There  were  babies,  happy,  dirty  babies, 
playing  about  doorsteps  of  one-storied  plaster 
houses,  or  toddling  about  the  cobble-stoned  roads. 

The  streets  were  narrow  and  steep,  the  roads 
wide  with  moss  edged  in  between  the  wide  cracks. 
Suzanna  kept  her  eyes  down;  she  would  not  look 
up  at  the  mountains,  and  finally  Mr.  Bartlett, 
noticing  her  silence,  asked:  "  Do  you  like  it  here, 
Suzanna?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  But  I  can't  look  at  the 
mountains.  They  take  my  breath  away  and  make 
me  stand  still  inside.  Maybe  some  day  I'll  be 
able  to  look  straight  at  them,  but  not  now,  and 
some  day  when  I'm  a  woman  I'm  going  to  come 
back  here  and  make  a  poem  and  set  it  to  a  won- 
derful painting." 

He  smiled  at  the  way  she  put  it. 


THE  SEASHORE  331 


"  And  I,"  said  Maizie,  "  am  going  to  come 
back  and  take  care  of  some  of  those  poor  little 
babies  that  play  alone  out  on  the  cobble  stones." 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett.  "  Time  alone 
can  tell  what  you  two  little  girls  will  do." 

Returning  to  the  hotel  they  found  vehicles 
awaiting  them.  And  shortly  they  were  again  on 
a  train,  speeding  away. 

Three  hours,  and  they  were  at  their  destination. 
A  short  ride  in  an  electric  car,  a  shorter  walk  down 
a  tree-lined  street,  and  they  were  at  the  "  cottage." 

"  A  cottage,"  cried  Suzanna,  "  why  it's  a  big 
house!  " 

"  Everything  is  called  a  cottage  down  here," 
said  Mrs.  Bartlett. 

Mr.  Bartlett  used  the  brass  knocker  and  its 
echo  reverberated  down  the  street.  An  elderly 
Scotch  woman,  Bessie,  who  had  been  long  with 
Mrs.  Bartlett's  family,  met  them  in  the  hall,  her 
pleasant  face  alight  with  smiles.  She  said  now: 

"  Everything  is  ready,  and  the  trunks,  I  sup- 
pose, will  be  here  within  a  short  time." 

"  What's  that  sound?  "  Suzanna  asked. 
'  That's  the  ocean  booming,"  said  Mrs.  Bart- 
lett.    "  Now  let's  go  upstairs  and  prepare  our- 
selves for  luncheon.     Nancy  will  show  you  chil- 
dren your  different  rooms." 


332  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

So  upstairs  they  went,  Nancy  in  the  lead.  She 
threw  open  the  door  of  the  bedrooms.  Suzanna 
and  Maizie  were  given  one  from  whose  windows 
the  ocean  could  be  seen.  Peter  had  a  room  all 
to  himself,  a  small  one  with  a  cot  which  was  much 
to  his  liking.  "  It's  like  camping  out,"  he  made 
himself  believe.  Graham  occupied  one  next  door. 
Little  Daphne  was  with  Mrs.  Bartlett. 

"  There's  two  closets,"  cried  Maizie,  as  she 
went  on  a  tour  of  investigation.  "  One  for  your 
clothes  and  one  for  mine.  Sometimes,  Suzanna," 
she  said,  "  I  can  hardly  believe  it  all  yet." 

"  That's  the  way  I  feel,"  said  Suzanna.  Nan- 
cy appeared  at  the  door  bearing  snowy  towels 
which  she  gave  to  the  children.  "  Here,  chil- 
dren," she  said,  "  the  bath  room  is  at  the  end 
of  the  hall,  and  you  must  hurry." 

So  Suzanna  and  Maizie  hurried  and  they  were 
the  first  downstairs.  The  house  was  much  more 
simply  furnished,  of  course,  than  the  big  one  in 
Anchorville,  but  as  the  children  went  about  they 
found  many  interesting  things.  In  one  long,  nar- 
row room,  the  length  of  the  first  floor,  was  a  fire- 
place taking  up  one  entire  end,  and  built  of  irregu- 
lar stones,  giving  a  charming  effect.  There  were 
big  easy  chairs  and  sofas;  tables  heaped  with 
magazines  and  books.  On  the  walls  were  color 


THE  SEASHORE  333 


pictures  suspended  by  long,  dim-worn  chains  — 
ocean  scenes,  a  ship  at  sea,  and  over  the  piano, 
fifty  years  old  as  they  discovered  later,  hung  sev- 
eral faded  miniatures  of  ladies  of  a  long  past  age. 
Most  interesting  of  all  to  Suzanna  was  an  album 
she  found  in  an  old  cabinet,  an  album  that  as  you 
looked  through  it  at  ladies  with  voluminous  skirts, 
at  men  with  wing  collars,  and  little  girls  with 
white  pantalettes,  a  hidden  music  box  tinkled 
forth  dainty  airs  from  a  long-forgotten  operetta. 

In  another  room  on  the  opposite  side,  which 
was  entered  by  mounting  three  steps,  was  a  large 
table  covered  with  green  felt  and  with  nets 
stretched  across  it,  and  little  balls  and  paddles 
in  corner  pockets,  and  Mr.  Bartlett,  entering  at 
the  moment,  the  children  learned  that  many 
happy  games  were  played  on  this  big  table. 

Later,  out  of  this  room,  the  children  stepped 
upon  a  wide  porch,  and  here  there  burst  upon 
them  a  view  of  the  ocean. 

"  You  see,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett,  "  that  those  of 
us  who  go  into  the  water  may  dress  in  bathing 
suits  here,  then  put  on  long  cloaks  and  run  down 
to  the  beach.  Then  when  we  return,  we  step 
under  a  shower  arrangement  over  there  near  that 
little  house  .  .  . 

"  Please,     Mr.     Bartlett,"     begged    Suzanna, 


334  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  don't  tell  us  any  more  now.  I  don't  think  I 
can  stand  any  more  joy  for  today." 

"  Well,  then,"  Mr.  Bartlett  smiled,  "  let's  start 
away  for  our  luncheon.  We  simply  live  in  this 
house  and  take  our  meals  at  the  hotel." 

And  at  this  moment  the  rest  of  the  family 
appearing,  they  all  started  away.  A  short  walk 
brought  them  to  the  hotel  where  all  was  life  and 
light  and  excitement.  Children  played  on  the 
wide  piazzas,  young  girls  walked  about  chatting 
merrily,  and  mothers  and  fathers  sat  in  easy 
chairs  reading  or  pleasantly  regarding  the  chil- 
dren. 

In  the  dining-room  a  large  table  had  been. pre- 
viously ordered  reserved  for  the  Bartlett  family. 

"  We'll  have,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett,  when  they 
were  all  seated,  speaking  to  the  interested  waiter, 
"  just  exactly  what  you  think  we'd  like,  John." 

John,  who  knew  Mr.  Bartlett  well,  smiled  in 
fatherly  fashion  and  disappeared.  He  returned 
shortly  bearing  a  tray  filled  with  just  those  things 
that  children  most  love.  There  was  cream  soup, 
and  salted  crackers,  big  pitchers  of  milk,  little  hot 
biscuits,  fresh  honey,  and  broiled  ham  —  pink 
and  very  delicious  as  was  soon  discovered.  Then 
there  was  sweet  fruit  pudding  with  whipped 
cream  and,  of  course,  ice  cream. 


THE  SEASHORE  335 


"Will  John  always  know  what  we  like?" 
asked  Suzanna  as  the  meal  progressed. 

"  Well,  we'll  change  about,"  said  Mrs.  Bart- 
lett,  who  looked  as  though  she  were  enjoying 
every  moment.  "  Sometimes  when  we  know  par- 
ticularly what  we'd  like,  we'll  give  our  order, 
other  times  when  we  want  to  be  surprised  we'll 
let  John  serve  us  what  he  thinks  we'd  enjoy.  Don't 
you  think  that  way  will  be  nice  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  very  interesting,"  said 
Suzanna ;  then  added,  "  Does  the  water  make  that 
sound  all  the  time?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  always  restless." 

"  Well,  it  seems  as  though  it  were  asking  for 
something,"  said  Suzanna,  "  a  kind  of  sad  ask- 


ing." 


"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett,  leaning  across  and 
speaking  softly  to  her,  "  suppose,  Suzanna,  you 
think  for  a  moment  that  it's  a  happy  sound  and 
see  how  almost  at  once  it  becomes  a  happy 
sound." 

Suzanna  listened  intently.  Then  her  face 
brightened.  "  Why,  it  is  a  happy  murmuring," 
she  cried.  "  Just  as  though  it  had  to  sing  and 
sing  all  day  long." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Suzanna,  quickly  drawing 


336  SUZANNA   STIRS  THE  FIRE 

the  deduction,  "  it's  really  just  in  me  to  make  it 
say  happy  things  or  sad  things." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett  again,  and  then 
they  all  rose  and  went  back  to  the  cottage. 

Since  the  trunks  which  contained  the  beach 
outfits  did  not  arrive  till  late  that  afternoon,  the 
children  did  not  go  down  to  the  sands  till  the 
next  morning.  Then  with  joyous  hearts  and  eager 
feet,  they  set  off,  Suzanna,  Maizie,  Peter,  Gra- 
ham, and  Daphne;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bartlett  fol- 
lowing more  slowly. 

A  bath  house  reserved  for  their  use  stood,  door 
wide  open.  They  entered,  discarded  their  coats 
and  immediately  appeared  again  clad  in  their 
pretty  bathing  suits  for  the  water. 

But  when  they  reached  the  sands,  already  alive 
with  gay  children  who  were  building  houses  or 
running  gaily  about,  and  with  happy  shrieks  wad- 
ing into  the  water,  the  Procter  children  stood 
awed,  unable  to  speak,  so  many  emotions  beat 
within  them. 

Maizie  was  the  first  to  recover  her  power  of 
speech.  "  There's  a  girl  down  there  with  a 
shovel  and  pail  like  mine,"  she  said. 

And  that  broke  the  spell.  Peter  and  Graham 
walked  bravely  out  into  the  water,  finally  reach- 
ing their  necks  as  they  went  farther  and  far- 


THE  SEASHORE  337 


ther  into  the  ocean.  But  the  little  girls  contented 
themselves  by  simply  wetting  their  feet  and  with 
every  wave  dashing  up  to  them,  leaping  back  with 
glad  little  cries.  As  the  morning  advanced,  they 
returned  to  the  older  group  and  sat  on  the  sand. 

On  the  sixth  day  of  their  stay  all  the  children 
were  trying  bravely  to  swim,  clinging  it  must  be 
confessed  rather  desperately  to  Mr.  Bartlett  and 
the  beach  man,  secured  to  help  them;  but  when  he 
procured  for  them  large  water  wings,  they  soon 
struck  out  for  themselves.  Peter  really  learned 
to  swim  before  either  of  his  sisters,  and  one  morn- 
ing he  went  out  as  far  as  the  end  of  a  quarter-mile 
pier. 

They  all  grew  rosy  and  strong,  out  in  the  fine 
air  nearly  every  moment  as  they  were.  Some 
afternoons  they  went  fishing,  and,  with  a  strange 
reversal  of  type,  Suzanna  was  the  patient  one, 
Maizie  the  impatient.  Suzanna  would  sit  in  the 
boat  next  to  Mr.  Bartlett,  holding  her  line,  and 
breathlessly  wait  for  hours  if  need  be,  statue-like, 
till  she  felt  the  thrilling  nibble.  Maizie  would 
grow  tired  immediately,  and  to  Peter's  disgust, 
she  would  wriggle  her  feet  or  move  restlessly 
about,  quite  spoiling  for  him  the  day's  outing. 
Maizie  at  last  begged  to  be  let  off  from  the  fish- 
ing expeditions. 


338  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

"  I'd  rather  just  lie  in  the  sand  and  paddle  in 
the  water,  or  watch  the  big  white  ships,"  she  said. 

"  You're  to  do  exactly  as  you  please,"  said 
Mr.  Bartlett,  and  so  they  did,  each  and  every  one. 

Many  hours  they  all  spent  on  one  of  the  large 
piers  running  out  a  great  distance  into  the  ocean, 
where  always  there  were  gaiety  and  music,  and 
here  one  afternoon  Suzanna,  Peter,  Graham,  and 
Mr.  Bartlett,  all  seated  at  the  end  of  the  pier 
saw  a  huge  shark  darting  about  the  water.  The 
few  daring  swimmers  in  his  vicinity  quickly  moved 
away. 

"  A  real  shark,"  cried  Suzanna.  "  When  I  go 
to  bed  tonight  I'll  just  think  I  dreamed  it." 

Said  Mr.  Bartlett:  "  Suppose,  Suzanna,  I  buy 
you  a  book  filled  with  blank  pages,  and  having  a 
little  padlock  with  a  small  key,  for  your  very  own, 
so  that  every  night  you  may  write  the  happenings 
of  the  day  and  the  impressions  made  upon  you." 

"  Oh,  I'd  like  to  do  that,"  cried  Suzanna,  her 
eyes  shining,  "  and  then  surely  I  won't  forget  any 
single  little  thing  to  tell  daddy  and  mother." 

"  I'll  write  for  the  book,"  Mr.  Bartlett  prom- 
ised, "  when  we  return  to  the  cottage." 

After  a  time  they  left  the  pier  and  walked  down 
the  street,  running  along  with  the  sands.  The 
street  was  lined  with  little  stores  of  all  kinds; 


THE  SEASHORE  339 


one  where  fresh  fish  were  sold,  another  where 
French  fried  potatoes  and  vinegar  were  offered 
to  a  hungry  multitude ;  a  place  in  which  handmade 
laces  were  made  and  sold.  A  florist  booth  kept 
by  a  dark-faced  Greek  was  neighbor  to  a  shop 
built  with  turrets  like  a  castle.  Here  a  happy- 
faced  Italian  women  exhibited  trays  of  uncut 
stones,  semi-precious  ones.,  explained  Mr.  Bart- 
lett, and  strings  of  beads,  coral,  pearl,  flat  tur- 
quoise, topaz,  and  amethysts.  There  were  bits 
of  old  porcelain,  crystal  cups,  and  oriental  em- 
broideries, and  little  carved  gods  on  ebony  ped- 
estals. The  place  reminded  Suzanna  of  Brasilia's 
historic  old  pawn  shop  and  she  stood  entranced. 

Soon  they  were  at  the  place  of  Graham  and 
Peter's  delight,  a  shooting  gallery,  where  if  one 
were  very  skillful  he  might,  with  a  massive  look- 
ing gun,  hit  a  small  moving  black  ball  and  hear  a 
bell  ring.  Mr.  Bartlett  hit  the  ball  today  three 
times  out  of  four,  Graham  once  out  of  five,  but 
Peter,  manfully  lifting  the  large  gun  and  scanning 
its  barrel,  left  a  scar  on  the  target  four  inches  to 
the  left  of  the  little  swinging  ball.  This  occurred 
after  eight  trials. 

"  Well,  there's  another  day,  Peter,"  said  Mr. 
Bartlett,  as  they  moved  away. 

"  And  Mr.  Bartlett  practiced  a  long  time,  you 


340  SUZANNA   STIRS  THE  FIRE 

must  remember,  Peter,"  said  Suzanna,  seeing  the 
little  fellow's  downcast  expression. 

"  Do  you  think  before  we  go  back  to  the 
city,"  asked  the  small  boy,  "  that  I'll  be  able  to 
make  the  bell  ring  so  I  can  tell  daddy?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett,  encouragingly. 
"  We'll  come  over  here  and  practice  every  day." 

They  found  the  others  in  the  cottage  in  the 
big  room,  resting  awhile  before  preparing  for 
dinner. 

"  Oh,  Suzanna,"  began  Maizie  at  once,  "  we're 
going  to  have  a  beach  party  on  the  sands  tonight. 
And  Mrs.  Bartlett  says  we'll  have  a  fire  built  so 
we  can  toast  marshmallows." 

Suzanna  did  not  say  anything.     Then  quickly 

she  crossed  the  room  and  stood  before  Mr.  and 

'Mrs.    Bartlett.      "  I    wish,"    she    said    solemnly, 

"  that  all  the  children  in  the  world  had  such  dear 

friends  as  we  have." 


T 


CHAPTER  XXV 

LAST  DAYS 

HEY  held  many  a  beach  party  during  that 
wonderful  month.  And  always  they  ended 
the  evening  by  drawing  close  together  and  sing- 
ing happy  little  songs.  Till,  when  a  little  cool- 
ness crept  into  the  air,  they  would  leave  the  ocean 
and  go  happily  homeward,  to  sleep  deep  and 
dreamlessly  till  another  morning  awakened  them 
to  the  thought  of  fresh  delights. 

On  one  morning  after  a  beach  party,  the  chil- 
dren, coming  downstairs  to  join  their  elders  for 
breakfast  at  the  hotel,  found  standing  on  the 
road  in  front  of  the  cottage,  a  little  brown  don- 
key attached  to  a  basket  cart. 

"  Could  it  be,  could  it  possibly  be  for  them?  " 
each  child's  heart  asked. 

And  Mr.  Bartlett  answered  the  unspoken  ques- 
tion by:  "  It's  for  you  all.  Peter  is  to  drive  first 
because  he  assured  me  the  other  day  he  knew  all 
about  horses;  then  Graham.  And  in  a  few  days 
Suzanna,  and  Maizie,  and  even  little  Daphne, 
can  take  their  turns." 

341 


342  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRB 

He  went  to  the  small  donkey  and  stroked  its 
nose,  and  the  little  fellow  whinnied  with  pleas- 
ure. The  children  crowded  about  the  cart. 
Couldn't  they  have  a  drive  now?  their  eager  eyes 
asked.  But  Mr.  Bartlett  thought  breakfast  the 
logical  beginning  of  the  day,  so  reluctantly  they 
left  their  new  possession. 

When  breakfast  was  finished,  Mr.  Bartlett 
said:  "  I'll  go  for  the  first  ride  or  two  with  you 
just  to  see  how  this  little  fellow  acts,  though  I've 
been  assured  that  he's  as  gentle  as  any  lamb  ever 
born." 

And  whoever  it  was  that  had  given  Mr.  Bart- 
lett this  assurance  had  not  exaggerated  the  ami- 
able qualities  of  the  donkey.  "  Little  Brownie," 
as  the  children  had  unanimously  and  immediately 
named  him,  was  of  equable  and  even  nature. 
True,  as  the  days  went  by  it  was  discovered  that 
he  was  somewhat  lazy,  also  self-willed.  If  he 
wanted  to  stop  he  would  not  move  again  until 
he  wished  to,  in  face  of  all  pleading,  urging,  or 
inducements.  He  refused  even  to  be  led,  and 
stood  very  pleasantly  viewing  the  surrounding 
landscape  till  with  a  sudden  jerk  he  would  resume 
his  usual  trot.  The  children  finally  accepted 
Brownie's  one  vagary,  and  when  they  were  driv- 
ing home  among  other  vehicles,  and  Brownie  sud- 


LAST  DAYS  343 

denly  stopped  and  raised  his  right  ear,  a  sign 
which  meant,  "  I  shall  not  move  till  I  wish  to," 
they  only  laughed,  and  others  about  them  know- 
ing the  ways  of  little  donkeys,  laughed  good- 
naturedly  too,  and  drove  around  the  little  cart. 

It  is  an  unvarying  law  that  the  days  roll  on 
and  bring  to  an  end  even  periods  of  thrilling 
delight;  and  so  there  came  the  last  evening  to 
be  spent  in  the  cottage  at  the  seashore.  The 
night  was  early  in  August,  but  it  had  elected  to 
borrow  from  its  cooler  sister  September  a  rather 
chill  wind  which,  to  the  children's  delight,  neces- 
sitated the  building  of  a  fire  in  the  grate  in  the  long 
room. 

"  And  we'll  pop  corn,"  said  Mr.  Bartlett  when 
they  were  all  gathered  together  watching  the 
roaring  flames,  the  only  light  in  the  room. 

And  Nancy,  who  could  on  a  moment's  notice, 
produce  anything  asked  of  her,  brought  the 
popper  and  a  big  bag  of  dried  corn. 

After  a  time,  when  several  bowls  of  corn  were 
popped  and  buttered,  salted  and  eaten,  Nancy 
put  on  the  hearth  a  dish  of  fine,  rosy  apples. 
These  the  children  peeled  and  then  cast  the  skins 
into  the  grate.  A  hardy  fragrance  came  from 
them,  but  hardly  pungent  enough  to  overpower 
the  salt-water  odor  that  swept  in  from  the  ocean. 


344  SUZANNA   STIRS  THE  FIRE 

The  flames  lit  all  the  faces,  young  and  old. 
They  fell  on  Mrs.  Bartlett,  touching  her  lovely 
hair  to  molten  gold,  touching  her  thoughtful  face 
till  it  seemed  a  smile  beyond  itself  rested  upon  it. 
She  was  thinking — "Tomorrow  we  start  back, 
and  in  my  hands  lie  the  happiness  of  many.  In 
my  hands  lies  the  keeping  of  the  ideals  of 
two  — "  She  closed  her  eyes  and  asked  for 
clear  vision,  for  strength  to  keep  true  to  life's 
highest  values. 

Graham,  at  her  knee,  looked  up  at  her.  Feel- 
ing that  his  eyes  were  upon  her,  she  opened  hers 
and  gazed  at  him.  She  did  not  speak,  nor  did  he, 
but  she  felt  his  heart's  nearness. 

And  then  his  gaze  wandered  to  Suzanna, 
Suzanna  gazing  into  the  flames,  her  dark  eyes 
like  glowing  jewels,  her  soft  lips  parted.  And 
into  Mrs.  Bartlett's  heart  crept  a  little  fear  and 
a  little  yearning  and  a  little  great  knowledge  — 
that  composite  emotion  all  mothers  are  born  to 
know. 


A 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

StlZANNA  AND  HER  FATHER 

IT  HOME  again  after  the  glorious  month 
spent  at  the  seashore !  Habits,  dear  cus- 
toms, taken  up  once  more.  The  splendor  of  the 
trip  had  not  faded  for  the  Procter  children.  But 
home  was  home  after  all,  with  father  and  mother 
and  sisters  and  brothers  all  sharing  the  common 
life;  with  short  wanderings  away  and  joyous  re- 
turns; with  small  resentments,  quick  flashes,  and 
happy  reconciliations. 

"  It  was  lovely  at  the  seashore,"  said  Suzanna 
to  her  mother  one  Saturday  afternoon,  "  but  I'm 
awfully  glad  to  be  at  home  again.  Were  you 
lonely  without  us?  " 

"  Very,"  said  Mrs.  Procter,  "  but  then  I  knew 
you  were  all  having  such  interesting  experiences." 

"  Is  father  coming  home  early,  mother?  "  Mai- 
zie  asked,  looking  up  from  her  work.  She  was 
sewing  buttons  on  Peter's  blouse  with  the  strong- 
est linen  thread  obtainable  in  Anchorville. 

Mrs.  Procter's  face  shadowed.  She  looked  at 
Suzanna  and  Maizie  as  though  pondering  the  wis- 

345 


346  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

dom  of  giving  them  some  piece  of  news.  Evi- 
dently she  decided  against  doing  so,  for  she  an- 
swered : 

"  I  can't  tell,  Maizie,  he  may  be  kept  at  the 
mills.  Mr.  Massey  is  growing  more  dependent 
on  father  every  day,"  she  ended,  with  a  little 
burst  of  pride. 

Father  did  not  come  home  in  the  afternoon. 
The  children  lost  hope  after  a  time,  and  followed 
their  separate  whims. 

But  at  six  he  arrived.  Suzanna  had  noticed  at 
once  upon  her  return,  that  he  was  quieter,  less 
exuberant  than  he  had  been  since  entering  old 
John  Massey's  employ.  Some  light  seemed  to 
have  gone  from  his  face.  Suzanna  wanted  always 
to  comfort  him,  and  he,  though  saying  nothing, 
was  quite  conscious  of  his  little  daughter's  yearning 
over  him. 

During  supper  his  absorption  continued,  and 
immediately  afterward  he  went  into  the  parlor, 
selected  a  big  book  from  a  shelf,  and  drawing 
a  chair  near  the  lamp  began  to  read.  Mother 
put  the  "  baby  "  and  Peter  to  bed.  Suzanna  and 
Maizie,  after  the  dishes  were  finished,  followed 
father,  and  drawing  their  chairs  close,  looked 
over  some  pictures  together. 

"Saturday  night"  —  how   Suzanna   loved  it! 


SUZANNA  AND  HER  FATHER       347 

It  seemed  the  hush  time  of  the  week,  the  hush 
before  waking  to  the  next  beautiful  day,  Sunday, 
when  all  the  family  were  together  —  father  in 
his  nice  dark  suit,  mother  in  her  soft  wistaria 
gown,  all  the  children  in  pretty  clothes;  church, 
with  its  resonant  organ,  and  the  minister's  deep 
voice  reading  from  the  old  book.  Then,  weather 
propitious,  the  walk  with  father  and  mother  in 
the  afternoon  down  the  country  road,  and  at  night 
the  lamps  again  lit  —  all  the  homely  significances 
of  the  place  where  love  and  peace  and  courage 
dwelt. 

Mrs.  Procter  returned  from  putting  the  chil- 
dren to  bed.  "  I  think  I'll  go  upstairs  for  a  little 
while,"  said  Mr.  Procter  looking  up  at  her. 

"  Oh,  do,  Richard,"  she  urged. 

Suzanna  went  close  to  him,  her  hand  sought 
his.  "  Could  —  could  you  invite  us  for  a  little 
while,  daddy,"  she  asked,  beseechingly. 

"  Why,  yes,  if  you  wish,"  he  answered.  "  You 
and  mother  and  Maizie." 

It  was  rather  a  heavy  consent,  but  they  all 
accompanied  him  up  to  the  attic.  He  lit  the 
shaded  lamp  standing  on  the  corner  table,  regu- 
lated it  till  it  gave  out  a  subdued  glow,  and  then 
walked  and  stood  before  his  machine. 

He  stood  a  long  time  looking  at  it.     Once  he 


348  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

put  out  his  hand  and  touched  it  softly,  as  a  mother 
might  a  sleeping  child. 

Suzanna  and  Maizie,  awed  and  troubled,  they 
knew  not  why,  watched  their  father.  Only  their 
mother,  with  a  little  tender  smile  that  held  in  it 
a  great  deal  of  wistfulness,  went  close  to  him. 

"  Richard,"  she  said  softly. 

He  turned  from  the  machine.  His  face  was 
strangely  colorless,  strangely  drained  of  all  light. 
She  did  not  speak,  but  the  loyalty  and  faith  deep- 
ened in  her  eyes.  Perhaps  he  gained  some  com- 
fort from  their  steady  gaze,  his  tenseness  seemed 
to  relax,  his  arms  fell  to  his  sides. 

Suzanna  unable  to  stand  the  strain  longer,  flew 
to  him  and  put  her  small  arms  tight  about  him. 
"  Oh,  are  you  sick,  daddy?  "  she  cried,  tears  in 
her  voice. 

He  hesitated,  looked  down  at  her,  and  said 
simply,  very  quietly: 

"  Suzanna,  you  might  as  well  know  the  truth 
now  as  later.  My  machine  is  a  failure  —  I  am 
a  failure !  " 

Her  heart  leaped  sickeningly,  her  arms  fell 
from  about  him.  In  all  her  life  she  had  never 
lived  through  so  intense  an  emotion.  Her  father, 
the  Great  Man,  proclaimed  himself  a  failure  in 
tones  which  struck  through  her. 


SUZANNA  AND  HER  FATHER       349 

The  mother's  voice  rang  out  clear.  "  Richard, 
you  cannot  say  that."  She  looked  about  the  attic 
made  sacred  by  its  high  use,  "  Here  while  you 
worked  we  all,  your  children  and  I,  have  learned 
great  lessons.  You're  looking  at  your  machine, 
an  insensate  thing,  and  losing  sight  of  what  dur- 
ing its  building,  you  put  into  the  lives  of  those 
near  to  you,  living  stuff,  Richard." 

And  then  Maizie  cried  out,  "  Oh,  daddy,  it's 
just  like  being  on  a  mountain  top  when  we're  in 
the  attic  with  you.  We'll  never,  never  have  to 
stop  coming,  will  we?" 

And  Suzanna,  still  deeply  troubled,  cried: 
"  Daddy,  how  could  the  machine  be  a  failure 
when  it  was  born  because  you  loved  all  men,  and 
wanted  to  make  them  happy?  And  the  very 
thought  of  it  up  here  made  me  happy.  Why,  in 
school  on  Monday  I'd  look  down  all  the  shapes 
of  the  week,  and  think  of  Saturday  afternoon 
and  wish  it  would  come  quick."  Her  voice  broke 
and  the  sobs  came  uncontrollable,  shaking  the 
slender  body.  In  a  moment  she  was  clasped  tight 
in  her  father's  arms. 

After  she  had  regained  some  composure  she 
looked  up  at  him.  "  It  hurts  me,  daddy,  so  that 
I  cah'C  Breathe  when  you  forget  that  you're  a 
Great  Man.*' 


350  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

A  silence  fell,  and  into  it  plunged  a  voice. 
"  Good  evening,"  it  said. 

There  in  the  doorway  stood  the  Eagle  Man. 
He  laughed  at  their  bewildered  expressions.  "  I 
rang  and  rang,"  he  explained,  "  and  when  no  one 
answered,  I  looked  up  at  the  attic  window  and 
thought  you  must  all  be  upstairs." 

"  And  was  the  door  unlocked,"  cried  Mrs. 
Procter.  "  I  thought  I  attended  to  the  doors  and 
windows  right  after  supper." 

"  The  door  was  unlocked,"  said  the  Eagle 
Man,  "  and  so  I  took  the  liberty  of  coming 
right  in." 

"  I'm  glad  you  did,"  said  Mr.  Procter. 

'  Well,  I  need  your  help,  Richard,"  said  old 
John  Massey  in  an  affectionate  tone. 

"  It's  ready  for  you,  Mr.  Massey,"  the  inven- 
tor answered  warmly. 

Suzanna  gazing  at  her  old  friend,  suddenly 
cried  out:  "  Oh,  your  eyes  have  changed,  Eagle 
Man,  they're  all  nice  and  shiny." 

He  smiled  with  great  fondness  at  her.  "  My 
dear,"  he  said,  "  how  can  a  man  fail  to  indulge  in 
nice  shining  eyes  after  contact  with  a  family  of 
rare  visionaries?  " 

Suzanna  did  not  understand  that.  She  knew 
only  that  the  Eagle  Man  had  greatly  changed, 


SUZANNA  AND  HER  FATHER       351 

that  he  seemed  kinder,  more  understanding,  and 
all  at  once  she  knew  why.  He  had  had  of  late 
the  ineffable  privilege  of  being  close  to  her  father. 
Of  course,  by  such  proximity  he  must  grow  kind 
and  understanding. 

"  Richard,"  said  the  capitalist,  "  there's  trouble 
threatened  in  the  foreign  section  of  the  mills." 

"  Trouble?  "  Richard  Procter's  head  went  up. 

"  Yes,  the  men  are  dissatisfied,  surly.  It's  the 
one  department  where  your  touch  hasn't  been  felt. 
I  want  you  to  go  there  on  Monday  and  begin 
your  work." 

"  I'll  be  ready,"  said  Richard  Procter.  Strength 
and  purpose  seemed  to  flow  back  to  him. 

The  Eagle  Man  turned  as  though  to  go,  but 
he  paused  at  the  door  to  look  again  at  Suzanna. 

"  And  so  your  father's  been  telling  you  that 
he  has  failed,  that  his  machine  refused  to  work 
in  the  final  test  we  gave  it  at  the  mills." 

"  My  father  hasn't  failed,"  Suzanna  said 
proudly. 

"  No,  he  hasn't  failed,"  the  Eagle  Man  agreed. 
"  He  hasn't  failed.  He's  the  most  brilliant  suc- 
cess I  know.  He  built  into  a  piece  of  machinery 
his  ideals,  and  when  the  machine  was  finished  he 
saw  in  his  experiments  with  it  on  those  in  his 
home  ultimate  triumph.  But  when  it  was  taken 


352  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

to  my  mills  the  machine  failed  to  register  color 
in  personalities  whose  chief  talent  by  years  of 
wrong  work  had  been  nearly  strangled." 

Mr.  Procter  spoke :  "  It  shouldn't  have  failed 
even  there.  It  did  register,  if  you  remember  your 
color  and  Mr.  Bartlett's,  and  both  of  you  had 
pulled  far  away  from  your  purpose." 

"  Yes,  for  some  reason,  it  did  register  us," 
agreed  the  Eagle  Man.  He  paused,  and  then  his 
voice  rang  out.  "  Let  me  tell  you  all  something 
that  the  inventor  of  that  machine  did,  some  mira- 
cle he  brought  to  pass  I  should  have  thought 
impossible.  He  awakened  old  ideals  in  a  hard 
old  breast,  he  made  hard  old  eyes  see  in  men, 
not  automatons  born  only  to  add  to  his  wealth, 
but  human  beings  to  be  rendered  happy  in  their 
work." 

'  Was  yours  the  hard  old  breast,  Eagle 
Man?"  Suzanna  asked. 

'  Yes,  Suzanna.  A  result  like  that  is  worth 
while,  eh,  Richard?  " 

Mr.  Procter  did  not  answer,  could  not,  because 
he  feared  at  the  moment  that  he  could  not  speak 
intelligently. 

The  Eagle  Man  turned  to  the  wife,  adoringly 
silent  as  she  listened. 

11  Three  men  Richard  Procter  brought  to  me 


SUZANNA  AND  HER;  FATHER  353 

on  his  first  day  in  my  mills.  He  said:  'These 
men  have  ambitions,  they  are  greatly  talented. 
You  must  give  them  their  chance.' ' 

"And  what  did  you  say?"  asked  Mrs.  Proc- 
ter softly. 

"  Oh,  I  snarled  as  usual,  but  that  was  really 
the  work  I  wanted  him  to  do.  I  wanted  him  to 
do  in  the  circumscribed  field  of  my  mills  that 
which  he  had  built  his  machine  to  do.  And  so 
I  snapped  out :  *  All  right,  put  the  burden  on 
me !  I'll  give  them  their  chance  just  because  you 
say  so.'  And  where  men  were  dissatisfied  he  got 
at  them  and  discovered  the  trouble,  and  down 
there  they  all  trust  him,  and  his  influence  will  be 
like  a  river  flowing  on,  ever  widening.  So  there's 
the  late  history  of  the  man  who  stands  and  calls 
himself  a  failure." 

So  he  finished,  said  not  another  word,  looked 
once  at  the  inventor,  and  then  went  away. 

Suzanna,  trying  in  vain  that  night  to  sleep, 
tossed  about  restlessly.  Maizie,  a  sound  sleeper, 
did  not  stir  despite  her  sister's  wakefulness. 
Suzanna  was  thinking  of  her  father,  of  the  Eagle 
Man,  of  The  Machine. 

Suddenly  she  lay  quite  still.  She  was  remem- 
bering the  day  when  The  Machine  had  registered 


354  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

her  color,  a  soft  purple,  gold  tipped.  How  stirred 
her  father  had  been  when  the  wavering  color 
spread  itself  upon  the  glass  plate.  It  had  re- 
peated its  marvel  for  Maizie  and  Peter.  Why 
then  when  The  Machine  was  removed  and  con- 
veyed to  the  big  steel  mills,  did  it  stand  brooding, 
sulky,  refusing  to  make  any  record  of  any  per- 
sonality. She  sat  up  straight  in  bed,  her  eyes 
yearning  forward  into  the  dark.  And  all  at  once 
the  answer  came  to  her.  Only  in  the  attic,  where, 
piece  by  piece,  in  prayer,  hope,  and  jubilation  it 
had  been  assembled;  where  love  and  belief  had 
formed  the  atmosphere  could  The  Machine  be  its 
own  highly  sensitive  self,  reacting  and  respond- 
ing. 

With  that  big  thought  flowing  through  her,  she 
slipped  from  the  bed.  The  night  was  warm,  soft 
little  breezes  coming  through  the  open  window. 
She  went  to  the  closet,  found  her  slippers,  put 
them  on,  and  with  a  backward  glance  at  the  un- 
conscious Maizie,  left  the  room. 

The  hall  lay  quiet,  the  tiny  night  lamp  flicker- 
ing in  its  place  on  the  small  table  set  near  her 
mother's  room  —  that  mother,  ready  at  the  first 
sound  to  spring  to  any  need  of  her  children. 

Downstairs  Suzanna  went  swiftly,  and  there  in 
the  dining-room,  as  she  had  thought,  she  found 


SUZANNA  AND  HER  FATHER       355 

her  father.  He  was  sitting  at  the  long  table, 
above  which  hung  the  new  lamp  with  its  pink 
shade  and  long  brass  chain.  His  head  was  bent 
over  a  big  book,  and  Suzanna  knew  that  he  was 
studying.  She  paused  half-way  to  him.  In  her 
white  night  gown,  her  hair  flowing  over  her 
shoulders,  she  looked  like  a  small  visitor  from  an- 
other higher  plane.  At  last  her  father,  impelled, 
turned  and  saw  her.  At  once  he  opened  wide  his 
arms,  and  she  went  into  them. 

She  lay,  her  cheek  pressed  against  his,  for  a 
long  time.  All  the  thoughts  that  had  raced 
through  her  upstairs  in  the  sleepless  hours  re- 
turned to  her,  but  she  had  to  struggle  to  find  lan- 
guage in  which  to  tell  them. 

"  Daddy,"  she  began,  "  maybe  The  Machine 
can't  work  except  where  it  was  born." 

"  Tell  me  all  that's  in  your  heart,  little  girl," 
he  said. 

"  Well,  we've  all  thought  of  The  Machine, 
and  loved  it  and  believed  in  it  ever  since  I  was 
the  tiniest  girl,  and  you've  talked  to  us  of  what 
it  was  to  mean." 

"  All  true,  my  child,  all  true." 

"  And  The  Machine  stood  there  and  listened, 
daddy."  She  released  herself  from  his  clasp  and 
stood  very  straight.  Her  dark  eyes  seeing  pic- 


356  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

tures,  were  brilliantly  wide.  Her  breath  came 
quickly  from  between  her  parted  lips :  "  And  so 
it  grew  and  grew,  and  soon  out  of  its  soul  it  sent 
colors.  And  it  loved  the  man  who  made  it,  and 
it  loved  his  little  children,  and  made  them  all 
want  to  be  good  and  do  something  for  others. 

"  And  then  one  day,  they  took  it  away  from  its 
home  and  into  a  big  mill,  and  men  crowded 
around  it  and  looked  at  it,  but  they  didn't  love 
it,  and  they  didn't  believe  in  it.  And  it  felt  shy 
and  hurt  and  the  color  stayed  in  its  soul  and 
wouldn't  come  forth. 

"  And  the  man  who  had  made  it  felt  sad  and 
he  cried,  and  he  took  his  machine  home.  And 
then  one  day,  years  and  years  after  when  the 
man's  little  girl,  Suzanna,  was  a  woman  and  she 
was  out  in  the  world  trying  to  do  good,  as  her 
father  had  taught  her,  trying  to  make  other  peo- 
ple happy,  the  colors  crept  out  from  The  Ma- 
chine again,  all  gold  and  purple  and  rose  and 
green,  this  time  for  everybody." 

She  finished,  and  with  a  great  cry  her  father 
folded  her  to  him.  The  tears  came  streaming  to 
his  eyes,  and  quite  frankly  now  he  wept.  She 
felt  the  hot  tears  upon  her  face,  they  burned 
her,  but  she  knew  she  had  helped  him  and  she 
was  satisfied. 


SUZANNA  AND  HER  FATHER       357 

They  sat  on  in  a  wonderful  silence.  A  distant 
clock  struck  one.  They  heard  the  sound  of 
quickly  descending  feet,  and  turning,  Suzanna  saw 
her  mother  standing  in  the  doorway. 

"  I  heard  voices,"  said  Mrs.  Procter. 

"  Come  here,"  her  husband  said.  She  saw  his 
face  transfigured,  and  she  went  to  him  and  fell 
on  her  knees  beside  him. 

"Courage  —  belief?"  she  questioned. 

"  Yes,  they  have  returned,"  he  said. 

Suzanna  spoke  again:  "Daddy,"  she  said,  in 
her  eager  voice,  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you  of  a  nice 
happening.  You  know  when  we  were  at  the  sea- 
shore with  Mr.  Bartlett,  John,  the  waiter  at  the 
hotel,  said  something  one  day  about  a  son  of  his 
who  wanted  to  write  beautiful  music,  and  Mr. 
Bartlett  said  right  before  me:  '  John,  let  me  help 
that  boy  of  yours.  This  little  girl's  father  has 
shown  me  the  beauty  of  doing  good  for  others.'  ' 

The  inventor  did  not  speak.  He  sat,  his  arms 
about  his  wife  and  child,  and  in  his  eyes  the  radi- 
ance of  new  inspiration,  new  purpose. 

At  last  his  wife  spoke.  "  Richard,  could  suc- 
cess as  you  planned  it,  have  meant  more,  and 
wouldn't  it  have  brushed  some  of  the  butterfly 
dust  away?  " 

He  took  the  thought,  pondered  it,  and  his  wife 


358  SUZANNA  STIRS  THE  FIRE 

went  on.  "  There's  the  joy  of  striving,  of  waking 
fresh  every  day  to  hope.  Can  attainment,  after 
all,  give  any  greater  joy?" 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  murmured. 

"  So,  dear,"  she  went  on,  "  think  of  what  has 
been  done,  not  of  what  you  wished  for.  Think 
what  you've  done  for  our  children.  You  took 
them  with  you  into  your  land  of  dreams,  letting 
them  share  with  you  as  far  as  you  might,  that 
thrill  which  comes  to  the  creator." 

"  And,  daddy,"  finished  Suzanna,  "  if  The  Ma- 
chine had  gone  away  to  stay,  we  couldn't  have 
any  more  beautiful  Saturday  afternoons  in  the 
attic  with  you." 

They  remained  then  all  very  still.  Peter  cried 
out  a  little  in  his  sleep.  His  mother,  alert  at  once, 
listened,  then  relaxed  when  the  cry  did  not  come 
again,  and  then  Suzanna  asked,  "  Are  you  still 
very,  very  sad,  daddy?  " 

And  he  answered,  u  The  sadness  has  gone, 
Suzanna.  Come  another  Saturday,  I  shall  take 
up  the  work  again  —  and  some  day  —  " 

"  Some  day  all  the  world  will  say  my  father  is 
a  great  man,"  ended  Suzanna,  an  unfaltering 
faith  written  upon  her  face. 

And  so  her  love,  like  an  essence,  flowed  out 
and  healed  his  spirit. 


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